Topple Your Kings
by S. Silea
Summary: The board was wiped clean with his death, and he found it replaced anew upon his awakening. When pieces begin to make themselves known, what else can he do but play?
1. Chapter 1

"You ever take off that mask?"

Lelouch glanced at the speaker. The words came from his opponent - one of many - seated at the opposite end of the table. He hadn't quite caught the question, attention having been briefly distracted by a particularly loud _clack_ behind him, but the meaning was apparent from the way the surly man was eyeing the lower half of his face.

"Forgive me if I don't feel entirely comfortable with divulging my identity to present company. It's not as if this is an uncommon practice here."

A noncommittal grunt was given, clearly unsatisfied with his answer, but any further comment was suppressed. Instead, the man tossed a pair of cards into the centre of the table, having caught the double meaning in the words.

 _Don't commit._

"Fold."

The man's resignation from the round was taken without suspicion. It was, after all, the first time he'd used that particular sign tonight. The topic of conversation seemed to pique the interest of another member of the table though, and the rowdy voice could be heard quite clearly over the intermittent _clacking_ of the billiards game in the background.

"Most people just hide the eyes though," said the man, obviously the youngest present - bar himself - wearing a cocky grin and a pair of thick, dark sunglasses. "You could've worn a surgical mask instead of prancing about like a deranged ninja."

The man's underlings, from their position by the pool table, shared a sycophantic laugh with their leader. The insult had basis, though. Most people in the room wore the same sort of shades as the man, regardless of allegiance. Some of the more nervous newcomers had even donned the surgical mask the man had mentioned in an effort to conceal themselves. They seemed out of place, here in the smoky underground bar, but above ground it was common enough. A habit of the Japanese; to wear when sick.

He levelled the man a cool look, violet eyes hidden behind a pair of brown contact lenses. He considered a response, but settled for revealing his cards at the dealer's prompt. A pair of aces.

The smug smile quickly turned into a scowl, though it was an unsurprised one. A callused hand was run through scraggly dyed-blonde hair in frustration; no doubt because he'd been winning all night. Evidently the game would be ending sooner than expected, for the dealer had begun stowing away the cards, dismissing the players as he did so.

He waited patiently until he had confirmed the exit of his secret partner, who had left with most of the other players. His temporary accomplice would be happy with tonight's winnings, and all it had costed the man were a handful of choice answers. He made to stand and leave himself, but paused after a step as he heard a throat clearing behind him.

Still seated at the table were two players; the young blonde, and a grizzled bald man with visible arm tattoos. The noise had come from the former; the latter preoccupied with the mobile held by his ear.

"Hold it," said the blonde. "You know, being a ninja and all, I figure it wouldn't be too hard for you to cheat. Now, I'm a nice guy, so I kept quiet during the match. But don't you think it's fair that you at least pay back what I lost to you?"

It was an obvious bluff. Even disregarding the confidence he had in his own ability, the scruffy gangster had all the observational skill of a drunken lout, and the bluster to match.

"Of course," continued the man, cocksure grin doing little to help the facade of innocence, "a little extra to help smooth things over would be appreciated."

Grins flashed on the faces of the blonde's underlings as they realised what their boss was after, and a few of them made to step closer to him, pool cues in hand.

The bald man on the phone grumbled something about the younger generation, but otherwise made no move to interrupt. The bar owner, who had served as the dealer for the night, frowned, but continued wiping the glass in his hands.

The advance of the men was halted when he pulled a gun from his side, waving it haphazardly in the air before re-holstering it. All throughout the lazy action, the look on his face strayed not a step from boredom.

The reaction was as expected, and his would-be assailants paled at the sight. The Japanese, even ones like these men, had little experience with guns.

He continued to walk, and even as he left the room, he could hear the blonde turn to the bartender, anger in his voice.

"The fuck was that?! I thought you said no weapons at the table!"

He didn't catch the reply, but knew what it would be from experience.

"The rule's for kids only, _boy_."

* * *

Britain, they called it here. A constituent of the United Kingdom, a name that served as a reminder to the dominant empire it had once been. A nation encompassing a near quarter of the world's landmass; before the colonies had slipped through its iron grasp as sand would through clenched fingers. The British Empire was relegated to the status of an antiquated moniker, and joined the history books as the name Britannia had before it.

He had laughed; a slow, disbelieving humour that had escalated into the hysterics of a madman. For who else but a madman would even so much as entertain the very notion of his situation? An adolescent daydreamer, perhaps, but he was anything but that, and no fleeting afternoon fantasy was as real – _as vivid_ – as the world he saw before him.

Japan was independent. The Americas had seceded from the British Empire a full century-and-a-half ago. This world hadn't even seen a full-scale war for the better part of a century. There had been conflict, as there always would be, but for the majority of the inhabitants of this world, life was a peaceful affair. Generations of people existed who were unfamiliar with the sound of live gunfire and the concept of warfare.

It was the kind of world he'd wanted; wanted for _her_ , his beloved sister Nunnally. It was the kind of world he'd fought for, side-by-side with the oppressed and downtrodden.

It was the kind of world he'd died for.

He would've taken the second chance as a blessing, if not for the fact that it so clearly was a curse. Any sprouting feelings of elation he may have had at the fulfilment of the ideal of a peaceful world were swiftly shattered; ground under the heel of the revelations of what a new life in this world would mean.

The actualisation of his wish for his sister; meaningless in a world without her. The fulfilment of his dreams of a peaceful world; senseless without the companions he'd dreamed it for.

Intellectually, he knew this was not the case. His Zero Requiem had been played to the last note; he'd heard the celebratory cheers for his death even as the blade slid out of his chest. He'd tumbled down the walkway, smearing blood upon the Britannian flag in one final show of theatrics, and then he'd died, quick and ignobly, taking an entire world's worth of enmity and hatred with him. In his wake, his world – his in more ways than one, now - would be able to rebuild.

Nunnally would have her peace. Suzaku, Kallen, his Black Knights, they would restore Japan to its former glory. They had been deserving, and they had received.

Emotionally, however – and hadn't that forever been his biggest shortcoming - he was struck by a profound sense of isolation.

The emotion wasn't foreign to him; it had been a constant companion throughout most of his life ever since the death of his mother. Nunnally had been his remedy to it ever after, but with the conception of his Zero persona and his rebellion, that had been taken from him as he hid his workings from her, despite it being of his own volition. He'd never been _truly_ alone, of course; he could list a hundred names off the top of his head, friends and enemies, people who, for better or worse, had intertwined their lives with his in inseparable ways.

Then again, he hadn't taken his current situation into account with that description.

In this new world he was nothing; _had_ nothing. No identity, no family, no friends, no purpose. He'd even been stripped of his Geass; the ever-present pressure in the back of his mind had faded entirely. It would have been liberating, but the chains of uncertainty had taken its place.

This particular emotion was unfamiliar to him; few were the moments in which he was paralysed by doubt, crippled by indecision. His intellect had always been a defining trait, and even now he knew his options, what he had to do to make a life for himself here, but it was his will that was being shaken.

He alone was left to appreciate this new harmony, this tranquillity, and he couldn't help but feel that he was the least deserving.

In the end, he'd finally been spurred into action by his body's physical needs. Food and shelter required currency, and he'd been relieved to find that, among many other things, the monetary system was similar to his previous world. He would not accept charity, not when there were more deserving, not when his pride disallowed it, so he'd fallen back upon an old, lucrative habit of his.

The nearest gambling establishment had been within walking distance of the station, and when he'd been firmly - and somewhat pleadingly - asked to leave, he left with his pockets deeper and options open. It was easier from there, almost laughably so, and when all the legitimate establishments began to refuse his entry, he turned to the illegitimate; underground poker tables and online betting rings, donning a mask to conceal his identity from unsavoury attention.

The criminals and thugs that made the underground their home learned to not question the stranger with the half-mask. Questioning meant a challenge, and a challenge was as good as a guarantee that you would come out of the night in the red. Besides, it wasn't uncommon for people to conceal their identity. That was the sort of underworld this was, after all. The smarter ones saw an opportunity, and in exchange for information and a fee, they reaped the benefits of having a better player at the card table looking out for them.

A few losers, jaded after their unexpected dive in fortune, had sought to recoup their losses the only way a ruffian knew how. The sleek, black handgun holstered on their would-be-targets' hip placed him out of the reach of the common lowlife; in more ways than one.

The firearm was yet another reminder for him. It had been altogether a herculean effort to acquire, costing much in the way of newly made money and connections. In his previous world, as long as you were a Britannian citizen, a weapons license was easier to get than a driver's one. That was not even taking into account the vast amount of cheap, illegal firearms that were readily obtainable through any number of backdoor means.

Here in this world's Japan, the only owners of such weapons were figures of authority, regardless of whatever side of the law they held sway over. The ease with which he handled it only made him feel more out of place, and the familiar weight at his side served only to strengthen his discomfort.

He indulged in his old habits to lessen the feeling, but found that they brought him no joy. Violet eyes dismissed words on pages with disinterest. Fine food; naught but ashes in his mouth. His fundraising outings were quickly relegated to the status of a chore. Even chess became a dull affair, the monochrome pieces losing their allure in the absence of skilled opponents.

Scowling at the chequered board in front of him, he couldn't help but think how much simpler it would have been if he'd never woken up after the blade pierced his chest. In moments of weakness, he would feel his hand twitching for a bottle of liquor; one of many lining the walls of his new residence. Gifts and prizes from his opponents.

Never would he stoop so low, though. He had once; when Nunnally had denounced him and his efforts for her, and the incensed reprimands of his Queen had been the only thing to stop the syringe containing Refrain before the needle entered his arm. That did not mean his brooding would leave him unaffected, however. Unable to bear the suffocating silence of his residence, he took to walking the nights, occupying his thoughts with the physical activity, of all things.

That alone would have amused his old friends to no end.

It was on one such walk, several weeks after his arrival, when he walked past Ashford Academy.

No… ' _Kuoh_ Academy' were the words inscribed on the plaque by the school gate, in the colours of copper and bronze.

It bore a striking resemblance to his own Alma mater, if on a smaller scale. The western-inspired architecture and expansive open grounds made for a campus quite out of place in the otherwise conformist Japanese town. When he'd laid eyes on the school, the vice grip of nostalgia had seized him, locking him in place as he could only stand there and gaze at an unreachable past.

 _Kallen… when this is all over, would you go back to Ashford Academy with me?_

A question posed by a Black King to his Queen. A now-impossible possibility.

A dozen reasons to not walk through that gate made their way into his mind, but as he stepped through them on a sunny morning the week after, clothed in the black-and-white uniform, the only thought that stuck was rather absurd and somewhat childish.

 _I never did graduate high school._

* * *

His introduction was uneventful; another foreign student come to study at a school where foreign blood ran thicker than most. The school seemed to be the gathering point for all the non-local youth of the town, and heads of hair coloured red, blond, and brown – and was that _white?_ \- broke the monotony of a sea of black.

In the weeks subsequent to his entry, he'd experienced almost exactly what he was expecting from the final year at a high school.

A passably challenging curriculum that despite which, he aced with little effort (He was interested to find that English contained many subtle differences to Brittanian, whilst Japanese remained more or less the same).

An expansive network of acquaintances and conversational partners among students and staff alike, courtesy of the polite and charming demeanour he carried himself with.

He'd even, to an extent, expected the noticeable – and really, they didn't even _try_ to hide it – female attention he was receiving. It had been yet another reminder of his Ashford days, the tittering behind textbooks and glances from across the room.

What he hadn't expected was quite so much of it. Apparently, nobody had seen it fit to inform him before entry that up until a few years prior, Kuoh Academy had been the foremost educational institution for young women and _only_ women in Kuoh town.

The attraction of his fan-girls – though he swore he had seen a boy among them a few times – seemed several notches above the attention he had received in Ashford; a fact he attributed to their lack of interaction with the opposite sex, and the frankly abhorrent examples of his own gender that also inhabited the school, making himself seem a veritable Casanova in comparison.

Hyoudou and his two companions acted in a way that bypassed indecent and bordered on criminal, and often he found himself wondering how the second-years hadn't been so much as suspended, let alone the expulsion he thought they were deserving of.

He received the answer to his wonderings when he observed Rias Gremory walking to school with the pervert in question one morning. Gremory was a classmate that received the devoted attention of the entire student body, even more so than himself.

Not that he was counting.

She also entertained a close friendly rivalry with the student council president. The stern disciplinarian Souna Shitori ruled with an iron fist, and was the initial prompt for his questions of Hyoudou's clemency; but if Gremory had taken a liking to the boy and also held the president's ear, then an explanation was obvious.

His deductions were further solidified when Kiba Yuuto, the blonde boy being one of his closer acquaintances, informed him over a shared mealtime that Issei Hyoudou had joined the blonde's own Occult Research Club, headed by none other than Miss Gremory herself.

He and Kiba had naturally gravitated to each other, despite his position at a year above the boy. They both endeared themselves to the school's population in their courteous, eloquent manner, and coincidental meetings when hiding from zealous fans had turned into occasional lunchtime conversation. It never quite approached friendship, as he had the distinct impression that much like himself, Kiba held secrets of the type that served as a very distinct border separating casual acquaintance, and close friend.

Despite this, he found a pleasant enough meal companion, and Kiba seemed grateful for a male confidant that didn't begrudge his popularity for once.

His days passed in the familiar yet unfamiliar life of a student, and his brooding was suppressed by daily classes and nightly walks, the latter of which being occasionally interrupted by his outings.

It rankled him now, that he held likeness to a common criminal, but efficiency and discretion stayed his hand from more ambitious operations.

On a particular day where he had been alone at lunch, Kiba having made some inane excuse or other; he found himself making his way past a dilapidated church at the edge of town after a particularly lucrative outing in the evening, his winnings in a bag slung over his shoulder. He had walked past the building before, crossing its path on several of his many walks, and not for the first time he entertained the thought of entering for a confession. It would almost be worth it to see the look on the priest's face.

His sarcasm was discarded in favour of curiosity when he caught sight of a trio of people by the entry to the church, and from his vantage point by the gate near the road, he watched as a petite female figure with white hair _kicked_ the thick, wooden double doors that were at least thrice her height, making them groan with stress as they swung fully open.

He had enough time to make out the other two individuals as Issei Hyoudou and Kiba Yuuto – with a sword of all things strapped to his side - before the three entered the church proper. His curiosity was only inflamed. Their presence meant that the white haired girl was most likely Koneko Toujou, another member of Kuoh Academy's Occult Research Club, the only thing the two boys had in common.

He would've dismissed the three's so-called sneaking into the church as adolescent social games, if not for the girl's unnatural display of strength and blade at Kiba's side. He entered the rusted-open gate and made his way to the threshold of the church, doors left ajar by the previous intruders, and peered into the room that was several shades darker than the exterior; the strong moonlight being filtered through stained-glass windows.

What he saw was entirely not what he'd expected.

Kiba, in his academy uniform, stood with plain broadsword drawn, facing a young man with a mop of dirty silver hair and clad in priest's robes. The man's face was twisted in the grotesque mockery of a smile, made menacing by the oversized silver handgun in his right hand. In the left hand, a sword, one lacking a cross-guard. The luminescent blade seemed almost ethereal

Hyoudou was by Kiba's side, a crimson, segmented gauntlet-and-bracer combination upon his left arm marring his otherwise mundane appearance. Serrated, wicked edges were set in even lengths along the boy's forearm, comprising the main body of the armour piece. A large, green gem was inlaid upon the back of the hand, and a pair of polished, sharpened horns jutted upwards and out of the entrance end of the bracer.

The final occupant of the room, Toujou, stood to the side of the confrontation. Her golden eyes were focused on the priest, aiming the _entire church pew_ she was lifting into the air with one, slender arm. If he were not utterly lost for words, he may have found the inspiration to laugh.

Four pairs of eyes flicked to his position in the doorway; three containing shock, the fourth widening in maniacal glee. He caught the sight of Kiba's mouth opening to frame hurried words, but they were drowned out by the _crack crack crack_ of the bulky silver gun that had suddenly come to life, discharging three bright flashes of light at the blonde.

Kiba dashed backwards in an inhuman feat of speed, ending further away from the priest. The positional change did not go unnoticed. The silver haired assailant broke into a mad run for the door, firing wildly behind him to deter any form of pursuit. Distractedly, He noted that the man's silver firearm had spewed far more ammunition than what even a full, oversized magazine could hold, and was still firing even as its owner yelled profanities over the _crack_ of the gun.

"Come back without your fucken' friends next time blondey! Kill ya later!"

It was evident from the angle of the man's blade that the intent was to cut through him on the way out, and the panicked expressions on his three schoolmates' faces told him they had realised this too. He finally gathered his wits and, avoiding thoughts of what had happened the last time a sword was coming at him, he took a single step back to brace himself, discarding the cumbersome bag slung over his shoulder and drawing his own firearm in one smooth motion.

The sharp sound of gunfire echoed through the church four times as he fired at his assailant; two to the chest to lessen momentum and provide a slower target, then two at the right knee to arrest movement entirely. He had never been an expert marksman, but experience served as an adequate teacher, and while the third bullet missed its mark, ricocheting off the ground and into the thickened wood of a pew, the other three found their targets. He was treated to the sight of the robed man collapsing, letting loose a shriek of equal parts pain and surprise as he fell.

Not even a handful of seconds had passed since he'd stepped through the entrance.

The _crash_ of wood upon stone brought him back to his surroundings, and he looked over to where Toujou had dropped her held pew, mild surprise colouring her features. A dull _thud_ diverted his attention yet again, and he looked back to where Kiba had suddenly sped to the collapsed figure on the ground. A second _thud_ resounded as the blonde boy kicked the sword out of the silver-haired man's hand, the shining blade of the weapon disappearing as it lost contact with its owner, and the hilt spun across the floor to the other side of the room. It joined the silver gun that had met a similar fate.

Their owner continued to writhe on the ground, now clutching a shattered knee as he unleashed a tirade of obscenities, this time directed at him.

"Ah, fuck! You're human too aren't you?! You should've just let me kill you! Why the fuck are you siding with these- "

That was all he was able to get out before Kiba's blade carved through his neck, and the decapitated head rolled once, twice, before settling onto its side, dirty-silver locks stained by a growing pool of crimson.

He surveyed the room and saw that Hyoudou, still partially frozen in surprise, had now gone pale at the gruesome sight. Toujou simply looked away, a lack of expression masking her face once more. He looked at Kiba and found the boy staring back at him, uncertainty clouding the blonde's grey eyes.

He opened his mouth to ask for an explanation, but what came out instead held a guarded note of accusation.

"What did he mean when he asked if I was human?"

Kiba seemed to come to a resolution at the words, and the previous uncertainty disappeared. "We'll have to explain later," spoke the boy. "We're rushed for time and it would take too long. You can stay here if you want, just don't attract attention."

Turning around, the blonde then addressed his two companions.

"Issei, move the altar. We'll need to get going if we want to rescue your friend in time. Koneko, ask Buchou and Akeno to get here as soon as they can. Lamperouge being here changes things. The three of us alone can't protect him in the event the fight gets dragged up here."

The words spurred the pair into action, and as Hyoudou rushed over to the raised stone platform, pushing it aside to reveal a set of descending stairs, Toujou's eyes dimmed slightly; losing focus as her delicate lips traced inaudible words. Her trance broke off shortly, and this time her words were clearly heard, if soft.

"I let them know."

Kiba nodded, and the three headed for the stairs.

He noted with interest the disregard with which they treated the headless corpse. Hyoudou had seemed the most uneasy, but his reaction was several degrees less violent than expected. Perhaps this world wasn't as peaceful as he'd previously thought.

Seating himself at the edge of an untouched pew, he quickly decided that following Kiba's instructions for now was the wisest cause of action. The three hadn't shown any hostility, and he would get his explanations, in time.

Even as the three walked out of view, his mind was already racing with possibilities.

* * *

Rias Gremory was rather lost for words when it came to the scene before her.

A cursory glance at her Queen beside her told her that Akeno was sharing the sentiment.

When they'd received the message from Koneko asking them to join them at the church due to unforeseen circumstances, Rias had been confused. She had been confident in Kiba's ability to handle the situation single-handed, let alone backed up by Issei and Koneko. Her Knight had always been capable, and would help Issei achieve his goal of rescuing his friend to the best of his ability. Koneko simply provided insurance.

Evidently, something unexpected had occurred, if Koneko had seen fit to send her a message. After she had brought a swift end to the three Fallen that had made a pathetic attempt to distract her, she had transported herself and Akeno to the church via magic circle, fully expecting to be thrust into the midst of a pitched battle.

Instead, she was faced with the decapitated corpse of Freed Sellzen and a classmate of hers seated calmly on a church pew. A handgun was placed next to him, but he did nothing but observe them with piercing violet eyes. Strangely, there was no reaction of shock or surprise as he watched them step out from a magic circle, appearing out of thin air; only a steady, calculating gaze. It was not a response she was used to from humans, when they first came into contact with Devils.

"…Your companions are down there," the raven-haired boy remarked, breaking the standstill by indicating the descending staircase several paces away from where she stood. "It sounds like they've been engaged in combat for a while now. Our respective explanations can wait, I'm sure."

Indeed, if she strained her ears, she could make out the sounds of blade striking blade, accompanied by the muffled shouts of combat. She beckoned to Akeno and both of them made their way to the stairway in quick, purposeful steps. He was right in that this could wait. There were more pressing matters to deal with.

The Fallen Angel Raynare had been allowed too long a leash for too long a time. The trespassers transgressions in Kuoh Town would not go unpunished, especially when they had involved her peerage, a group she considered as good as family. As she increased her pace down the steps, taking them two at a time, she allowed the Power of Destruction to flood her mind for the second time that night, and the black coils of energy eagerly heeded to her call.

By the time she was done with Raynare, there would be nothing left.

* * *

Lelouch Lamperouge had resolved to remain unsurprised at any further unexpected events. It was a tactic built from the experience of commanding battlefields, where flustered was the state a step before defeated. It wouldn't do to become caught up in seemingly unbelievable phenomenon only to miss crucial information that could serve useful at a later date.

So, when a series of unfamiliar crimson runes and sigils manifested out of thin air, only for his classmate Rias Gremory and her friend Akeno Himejima to step though, all he did was to file the sight away for further consideration and wave the pair through after their friends.

The subsequent period of time was spent in reflection and investigation. The terms 'magic' and 'inhuman' came easily enough, but were too broad to be useful. Inspection of the corpse seemed to indicate the dead man a member of some catholic sect, from both the clothes he wore and the cross lying where his neck had been.

Examining the man's weapons further consolidated this, as they both had cross designs emblazoned upon their respective hilts. Pulling the trigger of the gun produced no effect, and he could not find a way to remove the magazine, if it indeed existed. Grasping the hilt of the sword also proved unproductive, he could find no activating mechanism. Personalised weapons then, at least to a degree where a common person could not make use of them.

The word 'exorcist' came to mind, quickly followed by 'demon'. Conventional knowledge had the former as good and the latter as evil, but he often found experience trumped convention, and the priest had seemed altogether too bloodthirsty.

Perhaps a rogue factor? From Kiba's words, it seemed as if the priest had allies currently holding a hostage important to the Hyoudou boy. Did that place the Occult Research club as a supernatural branch of the church, come to bring justice to an escaped ex-member?

No, there were obviously too many contradictions there. He needn't waste time with fruitless speculations from fragmented pieces of information. The club members would return soon enough, and he'd have his answers. For his own explanations, the truth would suffice, though he'd withhold it for now, until they proved trustworthy. Perhaps they could shed light on his revival at a later date.

He heard them before he saw them, the soft _clack_ of shoes on stone as they ascended into view. Gremory at the front, with Himejima at her. Following came the rest, with Hyoudou at the back carrying an unresponsive young, blonde girl garbed in the shreds of a nun's outfit. From the tear tracks on the boy's eyes and the sombre looks on their faces, he could guess at what had occurred.

The sight spurred a twinge of sympathy in his chest, though he was unsurprised. It was an obvious possible outcome of a hostage situation. His mouth formed words of consolation.

"I'm sorry for your loss. If you'd like some time, we can convene tomorrow, at school."

He meant it, too. Whatever explanation they had could wait until they had properly grieved. For all their composure at the sight of corpses, it didn't seem as if they were used to fallen allies.

The brunette, Hyoudou, looked up at him and smiled, far too wide for someone in mourning.

"It's okay," the boy said. "Buchou says she's going to bring her back! Um, actually, Buchou, could we do that now? She's starting to get cold…"

Despite his resolve to remain unshaken, he felt his body stiffen.

He could only watch, frozen in place, as Gremory produced a _chess piece,_ of all things, from the folds of her clothes. He watched even as she gave Hyoudou a kind smile while pushing the bishop into the girl's breast. He watched as the girl's cheeks regained a faint colouring, her chest beginning to rise and fall in the steady cadence of sleep.

The image of two other girls superimposed themselves upon the unconscious one, replacing blonde hair with flame orange and vibrant pink. Their solemn visages broke in favour of small smiles, and it was all he could do to reduce his outburst to a small, choked, sob.

The noise brought their attention back to him, and Gremory must have mistaken his reaction for something else, as she turned to speak.

"I must say, people tend to be much more surprised than that when we Devils make a display of our powers. Your composure is rather admirable, given what you've witnessed tonight."

He inclined his head in a gesture of gratitude even as his heart continued its rapid pace. It was clear they had no reservations about whether he would abuse the information they were giving him.

Either they trusted him enough to let him know or, more likely, were planning on ensuring his obedience in some way. It could just be that they knew nobody would believe his revealing their existence, not that he was planning to. It could also be that they didn't acknowledge him as a threat, despite the firearm he had shown no hesitance in using. He suspected otherwise, though, and his suspicions were confirmed when he heard the next few words out of the redhead's mouth.

"The fact that you're so calm makes it easier to wipe tonight's events from your memory."

Correctly reading his expression as one of panic this time, she continued.

"Ah, don't worry, it doesn't hurt at all if you're willing to comply. You'll simply wake up tomorrow and go about your day remembering today's events a little differently. It's easier for both of us this way; it doesn't tend to end well when humans stumble into the affairs of devils. Akeno, if I may ask you to…?"

Even as the dark-haired girl nodded in affirmation and stepped forward, he had already grasped his gun and aimed it directly at Gremory, finger curling around the trigger.

"No," he spat. "Make any attempt to mess with my head and a bullet goes through yours."

Despite the threat, the only person to react with any sort of panic was Hyoudou. The others had simple surprise on their faces, something his vindictive side took a semblance of solace in.

The surprise quickly morphed into more varied emotions. Hyoudou looked nervous, Toujou disinterested. Kiba seemed distinctly uncomfortable with how events had played out, and Himejima settled for outright hostility; a cold smile on her delicate features that didn't even attempt to reach her half-lidded eyes.

Gremory just seemed amused, and the emotion coloured her tone as she spoke.

"There is really no need to be so antagonistic. I swear it will not bring you any sort of harm if you simply comply with our instructions. Please, lower your gun. It wouldn't be enough to harm me anyway."

He believed her. The specialised weapons of the now dead man had told him as much. He supposed he even believed her claim that it wouldn't hurt. Certainly, it couldn't hurt as much as his last experience with mind alteration.

It had never been about the pain, though. The way his mind had been invaded, _violated_ , as he clung to the shreds of his memory, only for each to be easily ripped from his grasp, remained a fresh experience. He had begged – him, _begging_ – the Emperor to stop, not wanting to lose his sister, his mother _again_.

Charles zi Britannia had never been a merciful man.

He didn't lower the gun.

"Really now, I assure you that you will be much safer having no knowledge of our world. This is going to happen one way or another, so do stop being so difficult."

Gremory's tone had become exasperated, and Himejima had started forward again, striding towards him confidently. Time was running out, and a cursory look at Kiba showed that despite some discomfort, the blonde was willing to let this happen.

Words seemed unlikely to help in this situation; he had nothing to say to convince them of a different course of action. What could he-

Two more steps from Himejima, and his mind provided a solution. All he had to do was something he'd become very used to doing, since coming to this world.

Shifting his firearm to aim at a different target, he gambled.

Himejima stopped in her tracks, frozen in shock. The emotion was shared by all her club members, and even Toujou's stoic demeanour had shattered to make way for disbelief. Silence reigned as five pairs of widened eyes focused on the sleek, black, barrel of his handgun, and where it was directed.

Against his own temple.

"You will not," he stated, tone calm and deliberate, "make any attempt to access my mind, much less alter it to your own design. Do so, and I will end my own life. I want your most binding guarantee, whether it be by supernatural ability or by simply swearing upon that which you hold most dear, that you and all of your associates will comply with this demand."

His own heartbeat seemed deafening in the silence that followed his words. He wasn't sure if this would work. He'd seen the disregard with which the priest's corpse had been treated, and for all he knew, it extended to all humans. He was relying on the hope that the masks these people wore at school were not entirely fabricated, and he had evidence for both sides of that argument.

"You're bluffing," said Himejima, the first one to break the stunned stupor that had taken the room.

He tapped the barrel against his head. The faint sound produced a visible flinch from all five members of the Occult Research Club. He fought the urge to smile at the sight.

"I am not," he declared, " _bluffing."_

The last word he emphasized, drawing out each syllable as he looked Gremory in the eye, daring her to object.

Violet eyes met blue, and blue faltered.

"…You have my word as Rias Gremory, heir to the Gremory clan of the 72 Pillars, that no attempt will be made to access or alter your mind by myself or my associates here. This I swear upon my peerage and family, both of which I hold above all else."

He relaxed, slowly uncurling his finger from the trigger and lowering the gun as he did so. He only flicked on the safety when he confirmed that no attempt to renege on the promise was being made.

"My place of residence is quite near here," he informed them. "We can talk there, if you have no objections."

His nonchalant words drained the tension from the room. Gremory gave a hesitant nod, and he walked his way to the entrance, picking up his discarded bag as he went. The others, seeing their leader's affirmation, made to follow, albeit at a nervous distance. Hyoudou took the rear, still carrying the unconscious blonde girl.

A question from Kiba made him pause and glance back from his position before the doorway. He'd almost missed it entirely, so quiet was the boy's tone.

"Would you really have done it?"

"Yes," he lied.

Though he wasn't entirely sure it was one.


	2. Chapter 2

The walk back was awkward, to say the least.

He led them from a distance of several paces, far enough for the sound of his own footsteps to drown out those of Gremory's group. The oppressive atmosphere had made it a difficult task to bridge the gap, physical or otherwise; with his assurances that it would not be a long trip being the only words spoken so far. As his surroundings became more familiar, he allowed his body to take over the habitual journey home while his mind toyed with various ideas of reconciliation.

Perhaps that was the wrong approach, though, as he'd certainly never had their trust in the first place. Introductions, then, coupled with the truth. The foundations of an amicable relationship.

"I imagine," he said, catching their attention, "that my side of things would be quicker to explain. As much as I would like answers; efficiency implores me to give them first."

He slowed his pace, until he was striding aside with Gremory and Kiba, and tried to ignore the icy smile he was receiving from Himejima behind him. Gremory was the quickest on the uptake, and her inquiry made him pause for its seeming simplicity.

"Who are you, really?"

The question was rather innocuous, yet invasive. He could just give her his name, but imagined it would be met with dissatisfaction. Fragmented question-and-answer was perhaps not the best solution to this ordeal. The others were looking at him expectantly, as if the answer he provided would somehow explain everything. He took advantage of their patience, and spent the next few seconds in silence, considering his next words.

"…Everything you know about me is most likely true, so there is actually quite little to explain. I own a gun, because of the nature of my work, so to speak. As I must provide for myself, I make a living by gambling. I'm quite good at it, so certain opponents tend to become upset. In those situations, a firearm serves for adequate intimidation. The church was happenstance; I was on my way home when I caught sight of three of you entering."

Wariness turned into scepticism, and they levelled him looks full of it, despite the fact that the tallest among them – Kiba and Gremory – remained half a head shorter than he.

"I find that rather hard to believe," stated Himejima, one eyebrow raised at his claims.

"I think I watched a movie like that recently," noted Hyoudou, and the rest nodded at the suitability of the comparison.

He was surprised; he'd expected disbelief, but thought it would be directed at his involvement during the church affair. It was, after all, the event he imagined would arouse the most suspicion. It seemed that they put more stock than he in coincidence.

An idea came to him; one to convince them of his story. It was perhaps not the optimal way to conceive an association with the devils, and certainly the method would have been dismissed by Schneizel without a second thought. His half-brother's game was one of diplomacy and manipulation, and while he himself had partaken of his own fair share of the two, he had been burned too often by repercussions of the latter to consider it as a major tool of his repertoire.

Schneizel had presented himself as an equal; the amiable comrade who shared in both defeat and victory. The image made him an excellent leader of men, and had thousands falling over themselves to curry favour with the affable prince. Such an approach was effective, and had very nearly cost him everything.

His own methods though, had won out in the end. Knowing he would not be able to be the drinking buddy; the friendly peer, he instead settled for the alternative. Crafting an image of superiority; he became the untouchable leader, the invulnerable Zero, inspiring admiration in man and woman alike, forsaking the bonds of camaraderie in favour of unshakeable faith.

Schneizel could keep his string-pulling and whispered words. He would simply make do with what had always been his by birth: theatrics and ingenuity.

Taking a long stride ahead and turning to face them all, he unzipped the bag hanging from his shoulder and angled it forwards, displaying its contents in full view, exaggerating the movement with a wave of his hand.

"Perhaps this would serve as proof? Tonight's winnings."

Eyes widened as they caught sight of the stacks of bills, bundled together and strewn about from the jostling the bag had received over the course of the night's activities. Hyoudou's were practically bulging, and for a brief, ridiculous moment, he thought the brunette might drop the girl he was carrying. Satisfied with the responses, he zipped the bag up and turned-

"Dude!" yelled Hyoudou, startling him and making him pause to look at the boy. The brunette had a massive grin on his face and was making a poor attempt at wild gesticulation, hampered by the body in his arms.

"Dude," he repeated, a little softer, "that's like…I mean, you have literal wads of cash!"

"I am aware of that," he replied, with a relaxed smile. "I did say I was very good."

Hyoudou continued to stare at him, something akin to admiration in his eyes. The boy's tongue darted out slightly, dampening his lips as they opened to form a hesitant question.

"Can I…can I hold one?"

His response was to open the bag slightly and take out a tightly bundled stack, holding it out towards the boy. Impossibly, Hyoudou's grin grew even wider as he stepped forward, handing his burden to Kiba, who rolled his eyes as he accepted the girl. Grabbing the wad with one hand, Hyoudou flicked through it with the thumb of the other, before bringing it up to his nose and sniffing deeply. With a contented sigh, the boy looked back at him, smile still plastered on his face.

"I have _always_ wanted to do that!"

An opportunity presented itself, and he took it without hesitation.

"You can keep it, if you'd like."

Hyoudou looked as if he was trying his best to match the beam given off by the surrounding street lights. The sight of such unguarded joy certainly lifted the atmosphere, and he easily found himself thinking that his gift had been worthwhile.

"I am going to buy _so_ much porn with this!"

…Still worthwhile.

Turning to continue walking, he was interrupted by a small tug of his sleeve by the elbow. He glanced down to find the golden orbs of Koneko Toujou gazing up at him. She looked surprised, as if the action had been involuntary, and stared at her offending hand with a small frown.

Bemused, he fished out another stack and placed it in her palm. He was treated to a small, delicate smile, and suppressed the urge to ruffle her white hair as he had done with Nunnally so many times.

"Koneko!" scolded Gremory, no doubt for her subordinate's audacity.

"Ah…" was Toujou's reply, as if she had suddenly realised something. Facing him, she gave a light bow. "Thank you."

"That's not what I meant!" exclaimed Gremory, who had folded her arms as if to prevent them from being thrown up into the air in exasperation.

To her credit, Toujou looked slightly uncomfortable, glancing between her benefactor and her superior, before finally settling her gaze upon the latter.

"…Buchou doesn't give enough snack budget."

He heard a snort from Kiba at the vaguely reproachful statement, and couldn't help but share in the sentiment. A soft _rustle_ caught his attention, and he glanced at Hyoudou to see that the boy had removed the elastic binding to count the stack of money in his hands. The boy caught him staring, and flashed him a guilty smile before looking back down to continue his task.

Emboldened by the acceptance of his olive branch, he turned to the three who weren't holding a stack of bills, and extended them same offer.

"In the interests of fair play, would you happen to like one as well? I assure you, it would be no trouble. I do feel as if I owe you all for tonight's convoluted events." He gestured to the open bag, the contents having hardly been dented.

"I couldn't possibly," was Gremory's reply, even as Himejima said "I'm quite alright, thank you."

Both girls then threw accusatory looks at Kiba, whose mouth was open, despite failing to make a sound with it. The blonde closed his mouth, then opened it again, only to once more come up short.

He fixed the boy with an amused grin, and held out another stack of bills to the boy. Kiba handed the still-unconscious girl to Hyoudou, who had finished counting his money and was standing next to Toujou, who had started. The blonde then allowed him to drop the bundle into a waiting palm.

Leaving Kiba, who was looking at the cash on his palm as if he didn't know how it had gotten there, he retrieved two more stacks and tossed them in the directions of Gremory and Himejima. Both caught their respective projectiles out of surprise, and their mouths opened to form words of objection. Before they could, he interrupted.

"Think of it as payment for information. I value it far above any currency, and not simply because I have an excess of the latter."

Turning with slightly more flair than absolutely necessary, he continued to walk, replacing his previous distracted gait with confident strides. They made to follow, and light-hearted discussion broke out as Hyoudou regaled everyone with tales of future erotic purchases; making the offer to share, if anybody was so inclined.

They weren't.

The sound of conversation was accompanied by the soft _patter_ of the group's footsteps, his own now indistinct among them. He very much doubted they would be entirely won over with money, of all things, but it had served as an ample peace offering. He found himself enjoying the cheerful atmosphere that had arisen due to the success of his opening gambit, and realised it was the best mood he'd entertained in a long while.

* * *

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

The sound of the chess piece making contact with his desk was audible to only him, hidden to his leaving classmates by their own idle chatter. Several departing girls recognised the black king for what it was, between the transfer student's fingers, and resolved to learn the rules of chess when they returned home.

Lelouch used his left hand to wave his acquaintances off as they departed, right still occupied by its task as a makeshift metronome. His mind was occupied by other concerns; namely the revelations provided to him by Rias – as she'd insisted he call her – the previous night.

In retrospect, the base details proved simple. Devils and Angels, the latter of which consisted of both the divine and the damned, comprised the majority of this world's power base. Humanity had its own tools; the God-given Sacred Gears foremost among them, but remained unconsolidated, instead splitting its allegiance among the three main factions.

The existence of three, in fact, was a blessing. It allowed for a tentative balance, and though the current ceasefire looked unlikely to evolve into a peace treaty, no faction would act alone for fear of retribution returned twice-fold.

Supernatural power struggles were the least of his thoughts, however, and the majority of his 'lesson' had been littered with queries of the structure of Devil society. He would have preferred an equal understanding of the Angels, Fallen or otherwise, but acknowledged Rias' lack of expertise on the matter as unavoidable.

The noble hierarchy of hell's residents, despite having fewer intricacies and positions, held an unerring similarity to Britannia's system, and the Rating Games; grounded in chess as they were, piqued no little amount of his curiosity. This in fact, was what had led to Rias' discovery of his main hobby. He'd taken out a set to idly fiddle with the pieces as she talked, and the redhead's eyes had caught the motions of his habit immediately.

She and her group had been surprised when he'd led them to his residence, more than one member expressing their amusement at the fact that he lived in one of the utterly uninteresting, uniform houses that were all too common in Kuoh Town's suburban areas. Issei – again, called at the boy's insistence – had remarked that he wouldn't have been surprised if Lelouch lived in a penthouse apartment.

The notion was impractical, considering his reliance on public transport and simple walking, as Kuoh Academy was far removed from the city centre where the only such residences existed. He'd told the brunette as such, and the group seemed to find it hilarious that his only reason for not living in one was distance.

He withheld the detail that before he had moved into his current residence to gain easier access to the academy, he had indeed resided on the top floor of an apartment complex.

He suspected Rias was no stranger to extravagance herself though; quite the opposite in fact, in light of what she'd told him about her circumstances. Her mixed heritage from the Gremory and Bael clans held no small amount of sway in the political underworld, and he'd seen for himself the latter clan's hereditary power; the all-consuming void had fascinated him even as he watched her use it to devour the corpse of the late rogue exorcist, leaving no evidence of the conflict that had occurred.

Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. The priest's weapons he'd kept for himself, and they lay untouched in his residence until he could make further use of them.

In addition, Rias' brother Sirzechs served as the current Lucifer, one position among the four titles of Lucifer, Leviathan, Asmodeus and Beelzebub that acted as the pillars of Devil society. The triumvirate-plus-one - a correct description, according to Rias, citing the current Asmodeus' laziness as the reason – were of particular interest to him, as he'd never seen a successful example of such a governing system, much less a live one. The relative stability of the past few centuries, or so Rias claimed, were indicative of their leadership and administrative skills.

Speaking of administrative abilities…

"Lelouch Lamperouge."

The words were as jarring as the loud _rattle_ of the sliding door that preceded them, but not entirely unexpected. His reason for remaining alone in the classroom at the end of the day stood sternly in the doorway threshold, a position that only reinforced her disciplined image. Short black hair styled into a bob-cut and oval glasses adorning her face, Kuoh Academy's student council president was best described as clinical and precise; two attributes he found a welcome change from Milly's overbearingness.

"Sona Sitri"

He didn't use the Japanese convention of placing the last name first, a by-product of the English lilt he'd used to pronounce it. The importance of the act was lost on neither of them. It signified an introduction, the preliminary steps to reconstruction of their shattered perceptions of one another. No longer Shitori Souna to him, she was now Sona Sitri, heir to the Sitri clan of the 72 Pillars.

Younger sister to the current Leviathan.

"If you would accompany me to the student council room? I do believe we have much to discuss."

The rhythmic tapping ceased, and he stowed the piece into his blazer pocket with exaggerated care, noting that her eyes – a shade of violet lighter than his – followed its journey the entire way. He stood gracefully, making his way to where she waited by the door.

"Lead the way."

* * *

The Church would not tolerate him; of that he was sure.

He could deceive them well enough though, joining their ranks in an effort to make contact with the Heavens. It would be trivial enough to take to the cloth, and spend his time as a member of their faith. Any sort of inclination he might have had to the idea – that is, none at all – was dissuaded by the circumstances of the recently deceased Freed Sellzen. The man had been a Stray Exorcist, excommunicated for the crime of murder of innocents.

That told him enough. The fact that the Church, instead of executing or imprisoning dissidents, sought only to distance themselves from them spoke volumes of their values of self-image and prestige. No, religion had never been his calling, much less the machinations of self-important old men. He did not need the red tape of bureaucracy slowing him down.

It was to be Devils, then, rather than Angels. Beings that respected cunning, ability, and most of all power. He lacked the latter, but didn't need it for them to lead him to the answers he sought, answers to questions of his revival and its purpose. In particular, he was quite interested in discourse with the current Beelzebub; Ajuka if memory served correct. The developer of the Evil Pieces and its resurrection system may yet be able to shed light on his situation.

In that, the Fallen were also to be considered. Rias had informed him that the leader of the disgraced Angels was a man by the name of Azazel, an accomplished scientist. He had no doubt the Fallen's erstwhile connection to God and research-inclined mind would provide answers matching that of Beelzebub, but with the Grigori, the problem lay in the cost of doing so. He had nothing to offer their faction that would match the worth of what he wanted in return. No Sacred Gear, no power; nothing he possessed could serve as an initial bargaining chip for the black-winged Angels that he had no means of contacting anyway.

Any attempts to affiliate himself with the fragmented human factions would meet the same problems, and the various other supernatural races and entities were too scattered to be of use. So, it was to be Devils. The only option left to him was paradoxically his best one. He could work the intricacies of their noble system with the ease of familiarity, navigating through the labyrinthine twist and turns of high society etiquette to get his answers.

Thus, plans were laid. Rias Gremory and her peerage seemed the obvious starting point, considering the heiress' position and his cordial relationship with the group. It wasn't even a bad option; time spent in their company was certainly more enjoyable than his usual dealings with the human underworld and the general school populace. Given enough of it, he could even see himself befriending the members of the Occult Research Club.

Sona Sitri, however, could provide him the best chance at success, in the least amount of time.

Which was why he was currently seated across from her, separated by a desk, and surrounded by the members of her peerage as they dealt with paperwork. One of them; the third year Tsubaki Shinra, he knew by name. The others, underclassmen, simply by faces recognised from crossed paths during the school day.

"Rias," began Sona," told me of last night's events."

He inclined his head to show he was listening. The pause in the sounds of pens across paper told him he wasn't the only one.

"However, before we discuss them, I would like to offer an… apology, of sorts."

His eyebrows raised. He heard a pen drop. Sona continued undeterred.

"Rias also informed me of your living circumstances. In light of them, I do not believe your witness to Asia Argento's resurrection would have been… a pleasant experience. I would apologise on her behalf, but she assures me she will do so at the next opportunity."

He didn't recall explicitly stating to the Occult Research Club that his parents were deceased, but it wouldn't have been a strenuous stretch of the imagination to connect the dots he'd laid out. With a slight start – though he didn't show it – he realised exactly what he was in the eyes of Sona Sitri. A tragic figure, life crippled by the death of his parents, turning to crime as a method of living.

Goodness, his life was fairly dramatic, wasn't it?

"Which brings me to my next point," continued Sona, taking his silence as acceptance, "and that is your agreement with her. It needs not be said that I fully intend to comply with it. The word of a clan heir is not so easily given. However, I cannot fathom your interests in remaining knowledgeable of our existence. Traditionally, the only ordinary humans that do so are those that contract devils. If you had wished to do so, I believe you would already have. In simple terms, Lelouch Lamperouge, what do you want?"

At that, her gaze turned expectant. It seemed Devils had a penchant for simple, catch-all questions.

"I simply want answers, Miss Sitri. To personal questions that are exceedingly important to me."

"And you believe Devils will assist you in this endeavour?"

"I believe they will help me assist myself."

Sona flashed him a look of approval – quite literally, as an adjustment of her glasses caused them to briefly reflect the light – and nodded once, as if to commit his words to memory.

"I can certainly respect your resolve. I must confess; my initial expectations thought much less of you. I am glad to see myself proved wrong. However…"

He waited patiently, knowing the crux of the exchange was about to occur.

"However, it does nothing to change the fact that you are ill-prepared to deal with our society, even if only at the fringes. Rias is an outlier; as am I, to a certain extent. You will be very hard pressed to find Devils who would willingly consort with a human that has nothing to proffer."

"Then, if I were to make you an offer, Miss Sitri?"

"I would ask you to state your terms, Lamperouge."

"A favour, granted unto me by making use of every resource at your disposal, if needed."

"That is no small feat. What do you hope to offer that would be of equal worth?"

"The opportunity to lose to me in a game of chess."

Apparently the owner of the dropped pen had retrieved it sometime during their conversation, for he was treated to the sound of it striking the floor again. Sona's features twitched once, almost imperceptibly, and her response came through a set of stiff lips.

"I see now that what I mistook for conviction was simple arrogance. No matter, I accept your terms, provided you acquiesce with my own."

"I would ask you to state your terms, Sitri."

The provocation present in the mockery of her words was no longer necessary, but he couldn't resist the final riposte. If it bothered her at all, she gave no indication.

"Upon your loss, you will swear to never again interfere with affairs beyond your ken. You will also submit yourself to the appropriate human authorities, where you will confess to all of your criminal activities."

"Agreed."

His response was sharp and immediate, slicing through the rigidity that had taken hold in her words. Realisation dawned in her eyes, and they flicked to the chest pocket of his blazer. Her countenance relaxed with a light sigh and she removed her glasses to rub at the bridge of her nose.

"It would appear my judgement has failed me for a third time in regards to you. Perhaps you are not as ill-suited to the workings of Devils as I had thought."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Did you have a particular time in mind for our match?"

"Tomorrow, after school. Expect to have an audience; I daresay Rias would have my head if I hid this from her."

"Then I look forward to it, Miss Sitri."

He punctuated the parting words by standing and making his way to the door, nodding his farewell to the other members of the council.

"Lelouch Lamperouge."

The words caught his attention as he reached for the door handle, and he waited for Sona to finish speaking.

"My opinions are with Rias on this matter. It will do you nor others any good if you intend to further involve yourself with Devils. No matter how capable you hold yourself to be. Nobody would think less of you if you skipped our match tomorrow."

Facing the door, he gave his response, back turned to the room and its occupants.

"I'm hardly a _nobody_ , Miss Sitri," he quipped, and left without waiting for a response.

* * *

"You're insane."

He looked to where Kiba was sitting across from him. The boy's chopsticks were distracted from their purpose of retrieving food in favour of being pointed in his direction.

"Absolutely crazy."

Seeing that the words left him completely unperturbed, the blonde shook his head and tried again.

"Completely nuts."

He continued to eat his sandwich.

"I mean, I thought so when you pointed a gun to your head, but this just confirms it."

He had half a mind to commit this particular recipe to memory. He'd outdone himself today.

"I feel as if I'm beginning to run out of descriptions for your lunacy. Are you sure- "

Kiba was interrupted by the door to the classroom sliding open, causing the background noise of the school lunch break to rise in volume. Issei Hyoudou stood in the doorway, lunchbox in hand as his eyes scanned the room. Catching sight of the room's two occupants, the boy cracked a grin and strode towards them. He was interested to see that the brunette wasn't alone; trailing behind him into the classroom was Asia Argento, looking the healthiest he'd ever seen her.

Well, he'd only ever seen her dead or unconscious until now.

"Man," said Issei,"do you guys have to come all the way here every lunch break? Must be nice, having girls chase you around."

Kiba replied with bemusement, the reason for which he couldn't quite decipher.

"It's not really as great as you make it out to be."

Observing the brunette's companion, he found the reason for Kiba's tone. The blonde girl kept glancing at Issei, only to turn away each time, heavy blush on her face. Obviously, the boy hadn't noticed, and was currently in the process of seating himself at an empty desk, grumbling something about 'pretty boys'.

"Lelouch Lamperouge," he introduced himself to the only female in present company. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Asia Argento."

His words broke the girl out of her infatuated state and she turned to him startled, giving him an unobstructed view of her verdant green eyes. They seemed to recognise him, and subsequently disappeared from sight as she gave a deep bow.

"Thank you very much for what you did the night before! Issei told me you helped beat Father Sellzen. He… he was a very bad man."

"It was in self-defence. Your gratitude should go to your rescuers."

She rose from her bow and beamed at him as she sat by Issei and unpacked her own lunch. "You're a very nice person senpai," she said, confirming his inkling as to her year level. "Issei and Kiba told me so as well!"

He looked at the two mentioned, one of whom seemed embarrassed. The blonde gave him a shrug and an abashed grin. "You wouldn't believe how much it costs to import tools for sword maintenance. You really helped me out there."

"You can't purchase them domestically?" he inquired.

"Ah, I collect western-style swords. You're supposed to care for them slightly differently than Japanese ones."

The idle conversation continued as they ate, chatting about their respective hobbies and interests with the exception of Issei, whose long rants about the female body went mostly ignored. The boy was in the midst of a particularly heated comparison between the attributes of two his favourite idols when he was interrupted by Kiba's fist striking a desk. Surprised at the sudden noise, the three turned their attention to the perpetrator, who was now pointing an accusatory finger at him.

"I can't believe I forgot! You!"

"Me?" he asked with a grin, knowing full well what the blonde was talking about.

"You're insane!"

"That's not very nice Kiba-san," said Asia with a disapproving frown. "I think senpai is very smart."

The blonde shook his head, continuing the jabbing of his finger with renewed vigour. "You challenged _Sona Sitri_ to a chess match!"

"Ah!" exclaimed Issei, undaunted by the interruption of his favourite subject. "Buchou told us about that. We'll be there to watch today. I, er, don't know the rules though."

"I can teach you Issei!" said Asia, smile brightening. "I'd be very happy to."

"Do you even know what happened to the last guy she played?" accused Kiba. Seeing his slight head tilt for the question it was, the blonde continued. "She crushed him. Completely. It wasn't even close, and he was supposed to be some sort of chess genius in the underworld."

"I appreciate your concern for me, but I assure you; I'll be fine."

The school bell rung, masking the sound of Kiba's sigh.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

* * *

"I'll play black."

His words were met with a terse nod of acceptance from his opponent. They were seated across from each other, the lacquered coffee table that separated them serving as the stage for their soon-to-be battlefield. Seated and standing around them were the entirety of two peerages, the numbers of both together falling three short of the sixteen that comprised a single side of the chequered board between the two players.

The clubroom around them, the main residence of the Occult Research Club, went ignored as all eyes focused on the black-and-white soldiers and their respective commanders. The armies were placed into position, and with Sona's advance of her king's pawn, the game begun.

The initial phase of the game was played methodically, systematically. Common moves and common responses, with neither player either willing or able to commit further. He was the first to break the stalemate, sending his queen onto the fringe of the board to gauge her reaction.

The steady rhythm they'd built crumpled slightly, strained by the ever-so-slightly extended pause as Sona processed the deviation. A white bishop developed, on the opposite side of the board. It was a delaying tactic, but one with no cost to her.

A dance began. He would attempt to lead, drawing her forward, even to the side. She would give, only as much as necessary, and proceed to change the very tune; to which he would switch step, still trying to guide her along. Casualties made themselves known, but unimportant ones. Probing bishops and sacrificial pawns.

The pauses between songs grew longer, the step changes less fluid. The first true trade was made, and a black knight retired from the board. It came to rest over a bishop and a pair of lost pawns whose compatriots had advanced one step further into enemy lines.

Sona Sitri, he could tell, played the song of the practised. Each interlude was spent in deliberation, taking influence from the venerated composers of old, twisting notes and bars with her personal flair. If he hadn't known better, he would've described it as artificial.

No machine could ever replicate the devil in front of him, though. To be sure, the moves could be copied, for all of chess' secrets have long since been discovered, but in this dance, timing was of equal importance as position or material. Computers did not wait for a reaction, minuscule as it may be, nor did they wait before making a move to destabilise an opponent.

Minutes stretched far into the double digits, and the room began to get restless. Whispers broke out, ignored by both players.

The breaking point was reached. Sona's queen moved, its first foray onto the board claiming the life of his last bishop. An unquestionable advantage in material. He made a superficial assault on her king, placing his own queen in position to check the turn after. She calmly castled in preparation.

Sona Sitri was a prodigy. What's more, she was a prodigy with experience and practice. He hesitated to use the word conventional, for though she played the traditional, she took it to the level of the unique.

But she was no Schneizel.

He'd grasped her tempo, now, and all that was left was to work it to his own needs. More of his pieces were lost; willingly, to suit his goal. His back line, decimated by white rooks and knights working in tandem with their ivory matriarch. His king was stripped of its protection slowly but surely; the members of the royal guard that didn't fall in the line of duty were advanced away by his own hand.

An interval occurred, on white's thirty-second turn. The game stagnated for a minute, then three, then five.

Every pair of eyes scanned the board, searching for the cause. They found the side that had once been black now displayed white, an ebony king and pawn the only remnants of the pieces that had begun there. They looked to the other side, the home of the white pieces, and found it divided as equally in colour as the patterned board beneath. Despite this…

"I've lost."

The words came quietly, but were no less impactful, opening the floodgates for hushed queries and explanations. More than one sigh of relief was heard. The game was played out for the sake of the spectators, and ended with the white king on its side, brought low by a black pawn, knight, and queen. Across the board, the black king stood enclosed but uncaptured.

It hadn't moved once.

* * *

The moment Serafall Leviathan made her entrance, half his plans for associating with her went out the window. Then she spoke, and he had the poignant mental image of the other half being doused in gasoline and set alight.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Magical Girl Miracle Levia-tan has arrived!"

The sudden appearance was met with deafening silence as the entire room stared at the speaker. Twin tails of dark hair and the folds of a garish pink outfit fluttered as their owner twirled in the spot, coming to rest facing Sona. A baton was pointed into the air, one that somehow managed to be pinker than its owner's impractical clothes. It ended in a hoop that encompassed a bright yellow star.

The colours seemed shockingly out of place among the passive tones of the clubroom.

Sona broke the silence, her words sounding slightly forced. "Sister! It's good to see you. You didn't need to drop everything and come so soon, you know. It's nothing urgent."

"Nonsense!" refuted Serafall, shaking her wand at her sibling, "When my wonderful little sis contacted me after _months_ of silence, how could I not drop everything to come see her right away? Ah, it's been so long since I've seen my adorable So-tan!"

Sona let out a noise halfway between a shriek and a whimper when Serafall ended her reunion words by leaping at her sister and crushing her in a hug, pairing cheek against cheek as she rubbed their faces together. The younger Sitri seemed to be completely at her sister's mercy, and was attempting her best rag-doll impression. The embrace, eventually, was broken, if only because the cheek rubbing made it difficult for Serafall to talk.

"So, what's up? It has to be pretty important if you directly sent for me with magic."

Sona was doing her best to straighten her dishevelled appearance, but her response came as firm as always. "If you had let me finish my message-"

"Then I would have had to wait even more to see you again!" Serafall cut her off. "Now, now, don't be afraid to ask, I'm already here you know?"

"Actually, I was the one who asked after you. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Leviathan. I am Lelouch Lamperouge. An acquaintance of your sister."

At his words, she diverted her attention to him with a soft "Oh?" as if she hadn't registered his presence until now. Her eyes – the same shade of violet as her sisters – began to flicker about the room, catching sight of the chess board in the process. It was untouched from where they'd left it at the end of the game, clearly displaying black's victory.

The speed with which Serafall's head snapped back to Sona was almost audible. It changed tack again, returning to him, and began to light up as her face expressed rapid comprehension. All of a sudden, the vivacious devil released a deafening squeal and renewed her hold around her sister.

"So-tan! You're getting _married!"_

The room immediately descended into chaos as every observer let loose questions, denials, and demands for explanation. From the audible choking noises, more than one person seemed to be having respiratory trouble.

He had no mind to pay them any focus however, as with emerging horror, he realised exactly who the groom in such an arrangement would be. He promptly decided to abandon any future prospect of affiliating himself with the magical girl in front of him. Taking a page from Suzaku's book, he switched to the direct approach, his voice cutting through Sona's panicked rebuttals.

"As a matter of fact, Miss Leviathan, I simply wish to speak with your colleague Ajuka Beelzebub. I have some questions I would ask of him."

"Oh, well why didn't you just _say_ so?" said Serafall, and before he could blink, she had twirled to face him, pointing her wand in his direction. "Levia Beam!"

A rosy shaft of light burst forth from the golden star, striking him full in the chest. Upon contact, he popped out of existence.

* * *

Turning to face the rest of the room, Serafall gave her wand a flourish, accompanied by an exaggerated wink. "Now, who are these new faces I see? So-tan, Ria-chan, introduce me to your new friends will you?"

She pouted when she was met with looks of incredulity and astonishment. "What? Was it something I did?"


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Lelouch noticed about Ajuka Beelzebub was the green hair.

Any further observations were then barred by the crashing wave of nausea that suddenly struck him. He fell to all fours, unconfident of his ability to remain standing, and fought to keep the churning contents of his stomach from vacating his body. It was a lost battle, but he managed to keep most of his lunch from making contact with the carpeted floor by depositing it into the trash can that had materialised in front of him.

He heard the _snap_ of practised fingers and it, along with the sick, was gone, replaced by a chilled bottle of water and a damp towel. As he made use of them, he returned his attention towards his benefactor, who had risen from his seated position by the desk to greet the sudden newcomer.

"Serafall, I take it? I do apologise for my associates actions. She's wilful at the best of times."

Finishing his mouthful of water, he gave the man an affirmative - and appreciative – nod. "You don't seem too surprised. Does she do this often?"

"This would make the third time this month. Although, you're the first human in a good, long while. Ajuka Beelzebub, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Lelouch Lamperouge. Likewise."

Looking around the well-furnished room revealed it as a dimly-lit, tidy office, whiteboard tucked neatly into a corner and wiped clean of any scribblings. Shelves laden with books lined every wall except the one bearing the simple door, giving the space a comfortable, enclosed feel. He would've likened it to a psychologist's place of work, but for the lack of reclining chair. In its place was a working desk, bounded by a pair of leather armchairs.

It was to one of these that Ajuka motioned he sit in, taking the seat that faced the door for himself. A single laptop sat on the desk between them, partially obscuring his view of the green-haired devil, who was giving him an open look of curiosity with crystalline blue eyes. They were set upon a face that could only be described as refined, though whether the features were natural or magically enhanced remained in question. Placing the used towel in front of him and taking another drink of water, he waited for the devil to speak first.

"Before we get to your business, I simply must ask; what is it you did that caught Serafall's eye?"

"I won a chess match against her younger sister."

"Oh? Now that _is_ interesting. Young Miss Sitri is the best player of her generation…" Trailing off, Ajuka gave him a considering once-over. Another _snap_ of dextrous digits, and the laptop on the desk was gone, replaced by a chessboard and pieces set up, already to play. Examining the white pieces in front of him, he could tell the set was masterfully crafted in its simplicity, as if the artist had rendered the pieces down to their base attributes. Before Ajuka could pick up where he left off, he spoke.

"I'll play black."

Another _snap,_ and the board rotated to heed his request. Ajuka gave him smile of gratitude, and immediately moved to advance his king's pawn. "And I didn't even need to ask. I look forward to a new challenger; Sirzechs has never quite taken to the game, and it does get tiring, losing to Falbium all the time."

No inquiry as to why Ajuka hadn't mentioned Serafall followed. It wasn't necessary, either. Instead, he chose to ask after something that had interested him from the moment he heard it.

"That snapping; is it necessary to work your magic?"

His opponent looked up from where he was contemplating his next move, and flashed him an unrepentant grin. "Not at all, but it adds a certain devilish flair, don't you agree?"

He could only give a nod of affirmation. To do so otherwise would be hypocrisy. "I am unfamiliar with magic, devil or otherwise. In fact, that is why I requested a meeting with you; I have several questions I would ask pertaining to its nature."

The game had barely developed by this point, giving Ajuka ample time to speak. Even so, the response only came after a short pause and a defensive re-positioning of a knight. "Ask away. Magic systems themselves are no big secret."

He wasted no time in his reply, on board or otherwise, attacking the retreating knight with a bishop even as he spoke. "You mentioned other systems; there are alternate branches of magic?"

"It would be more accurate to describe them as different trees entirely. There are as many forms as there are species in this world, and then some. The only element they all share, and even this isn't concrete, is that they require an energy input from the user."

"You speak as if it were a program. If so, is there a developer?" He knew of the existence of the biblical God from Rias, but that simply sprouted more questions. His former world shared much of this world's history, and the idea of multiple pantheons of gods did not seem so far-fetched when taking into account his experiences over the past few days.

"I've picked up the terminology as a by-product of my latest work with programming; it was unintentional. If there is a creator, he remains unknown. You wouldn't happen to be a religious person, would you? There is certainly no lack of Gods to choose from."

"No," he decided, "I wouldn't be." Having the existence of omnipotent celestial beings confirmed was all well and good, but it would require significantly more than that to cause him to place his faith utterly in the hands of another.

"Did Miss Sitri nor her associates explain any of this to you?" asked Ajuka.

"It was more akin to a condensed account of the supernatural. I only discovered the existence of devils several days ago."

"Ah. A crash course then." The words were followed by a short period of silence, disturbed only by the intermittent brushings of fingers on pieces and pieces on tiles. Three moves later, Ajuka spoke.

"To provide a framework, I will explain Devil magic. It relies on three core tenets, simply explained as the creative ability to compose a spell, the energy required to fuel it, and the will necessary to impose it upon the subject matter. These laws, so to speak, can be attributed to many other systems, given enough flexibility; though one or all of them may not apply, depending. Given the unreliable nature of magic, there is an exception to every rule."

He paused his considerations of the game – he was ahead, anyway - taking the time to digest the devil's words. The first and second principles were common even in human technology, but…

"The third tenet; you say emotion can affect magic in some form?"

"Indeed, in a clash of two spells of equal composition and energy, the victor is decided by the caster's conviction. To give another example, I believe the Angels, and by extension the Fallen, rely on emotions of faith and sin respectively to augment their natural power."

A single beat, then Ajuka continued. "I seem to be losing."

"You would not be if you had played seriously from the beginning."

The devil shrugged, apparently nonchalant about his imminent defeat. "A habit, I suppose, from when I occasionally taught young Miss Sitri. Speaking of which, I suppose you'll be wanting to return to your fiancé after the match?"

The description of Sona caught him by surprise, and he almost dropped the queen he had lifted. "My _what?"_

"You didn't know? Ever since she voided her arranged marriage by winning a chess match against her would-be groom, she's been fending off other suitors in the same manner."

He placed his queen down, and his next words came out rather weakly. "I had assumed that the magical girl was being frivolous."

"Oh, she probably was, but that doesn't make it any less true. Congratulations, I'll attend the wedding. Check."

He fended off the final desperation attack on his king, lacing his next words with far more vehemence than rightfully required. "There will be no wedding."

"If you say so. I've not yet met anyone who can deter Serafall from a course of action." Ajuka looked down to the board, where his white monarch was slowly being surrounded, and gave a noncommittal hum at the sight. "We'll have to play again, sometime. Forgive me for assuming you were of similar calibre to the Sitri heir."

"Of course. I'll look forward to it." Loath as he was to again experience the feelings of nausea that accompanied the travel, it would not do to pass up such an opportunity. "Checkmate."

"It is indeed. Now, before I send you off, was there anything else?"

"One last thing, and my main reason for coming here. The Evil Pieces, and more specifically the reincarnation system. How does it work?"

"Ah, one of my crowning achievements. Truly a masterpiece, despite the fact that it does have its limits. I am unable to simulate true revival, and it does inevitably bind the recipient to the user, but nonetheless, a masterpiece. Fundamentally put, it is a matter of soul conversion; acting as a catalyst for the transition from human to devil. As for their modelling after chess pieces, well…" Ajuka smiled and snapped his fingers, and their game was replaced by the laptop that had occupied the desk previously. "Personal flair."

"It's that simple?" He was rather sceptical, even though the devil had been nothing but forthright with him. He knew from experience that scientists tended to gloss over the details when speaking to the layman.

"Not quite, no, but the discovery is the fun part, wouldn't you agree?"

The rhetorical question begat no answer, and instead he asked for a final confirmation of his suspicions before resigning himself to pursuing another path in search of a solution. "The Evil Pieces, can they be used at a distance?"

It was the most he was willing to reveal of his current situation. He could only hope that physical distance could correlate with dimensional distance somehow.

"No, the owner and recipient must be in the same location at the time of use. Are you thinking of requesting peerage, perhaps?"

No, he wasn't. There was little benefit, and it would only serve to alienate him from the Angels, the Fallen, and perhaps other supernatural denizens. He was handicapped enough in his quest to question them; there was no need to add racial hate to the list. "Not at the moment, no."

"Then I believe this is farewell. One word of advice; relax. It makes the trip easier. Your earlier reaction was likely due to your innate resistance of the unexpected imposition inherent in Serafall's spell."

"Thank you. I'll-"

 _Snap_

* * *

"- keep that in mind."

His arrival had apparently interrupted an ongoing conversation, and he was met with the almost simultaneous turning of every head in the room as they looked in his direction. Their faces showed varying degrees of emotion; some pleading, others haggard, and the rest, simply resigned. From their expressions, he wouldn't have been surprised if they had been at it for hours, though a quick glance at the clock revealed that he had only been gone for half of one.

When he was met with no streaks of bright pink, he began to hope that-

"Lulu-chan, welcome back!"

His hopes were dashed, and he turned to receive the attention of Serafall Leviathan.

"Hello, Miss Leviathan." he said cordially, suppressing a slight twitch in response to her alteration of his name. He supposed he should be grateful that she had attached the honorific.

"Oh, there's no need for such formality. Just call me big sister!"

He ignored the slight choking sounds behind him, and pressed on undaunted. "I was actually meaning to speak to you about that. I was unaware of Miss Sitri's circumstances at the time of our match. I assure you, I have no inclination to marry anybody, much less your sister. We remain simple acquaintances."

Apparently, those were the wrong words to say, because Serafall brushed them off with ease.

"Don't be silly; love grows with time, you know. You just have to put in the work!"

Before he could formulate a reply, she continued.

"Anyway, I want to learn about you Lulu-chan! So-tan and Ria-chan wouldn't tell me anything important."

"That was because we didn't _know_ anything, Sister." came Sona's curt reply from behind him. "I was actually hoping to ask him some questions myself. Where he learned to play chess, for one."

"I was self-taught, from a young age. Although I admit I had a very good opponent."

"That is rather impressive." noted Kiba. "Were you raised in Europe, then? The game is quite popular there."

"Britain, to be exact, but I've lived in Japan since I was ten. I doubt my life is interesting enough to-"

"Ooh, my turn!" interrupted Serafall. "What did you talk about with Ajuka-chan?"

Honestly, the incessant dismissals of his attempts to divert the conversation were beginning to irritate him, but he made himself come to terms with it. Whenever Milly had gotten in a mood like this, he'd always found it quicker to just play along until the end.

"I asked him about magic and the Evil Pieces, over a game of chess. It was very enlightening."

"About that," said Rias, hesitation in her voice, "I would like to apologise, Lamperouge-san. All of this; it's because you saw me raise Asia, isn't it? Your answers from Beelzebub, they must have been disappointing. It was not my intention to give you false hope."

For a brief moment, he was confused as to her wording, but it passed with the realisation of what she meant.

"You seem to have misunderstood my intentions. There is nothing to forgive, Miss Gremory, as I have long since come to accept my parents' passing. This was naught but a matter of my own curiosity."

The young heiress' face visibly brightened, and she gave him a warm smile in return to his words.

"I told you to call me Rias, didn't I?"

"Then from now onward, refer to me as Lelouch. I've never quite become familiar with Japanese naming conventions." At that, he looked pointedly at Serafall, who responded with her usual cheery grin. "And that goes for _everybody_."

"Sure thing Lulu-chan!" she replied, giving him a faux salute with her wand.

He repressed the urge to sigh. Not even Milly had been this difficult.

"May I call you Lulu too?" teased Himejima, causing the rest of the room to break out into smiles of amusement.

"It does have a nice ring to it," mused Rias, her previous cheer continuing in the face of new entertainment.

"Very suitable," contributed Kiba politely, though his eyes betrayed his mirth. Nods of agreement happened all round at the statement.

It seemed the members of both clubs had united in their mocking of him, no doubt because he had left them alone with Serafall for half an hour. In that case, it was time to fall back upon the age-old tactic used in any situation where one was outnumbered.

Retreat.

"Well, if that will be all for today, I'll be making my leave." He strode quickly to the door, but barely made it halfway before Sona called out to him.

"Not just yet, La-…Lelouch."

He vaguely wondered of the repercussions were he to just ignore her and keep going. With Serafall present, it probably wouldn't be pretty. Repressing a sigh yet again, he turned to acknowledge her.

"Was there something else you needed?"

"Just two things," she acknowledged. "One concerns your criminal activities. As the student president of Kuoh Academy, I cannot have one of the members of our school acting in such a manner. While the terms of our match state that you no longer have to turn yourself in, I still must request that you cease your wrongdoings."

"I don't suppose I could convince you otherwise with another chess match?" he remarked offhandedly, fully aware that it was unlikely he could pull that particular move off again.

"As much as I enjoyed our last one; no."

He pondered his options. It would do him no great harm to stop gambling while he attended Kuoh; it wasn't as if he lived luxuriously, after all, and he only had the better part of a year left at this school. His current savings would suffice for several years yet. If it served to placate her, it was a non-existent price to pay. The Evil Pieces may have been a dead end, but that in itself did not write off Devils as a possible solution. It would be beneficial to remain in the Sitri heiress' good graces.

"Alright, but you'll have to forgive me if I hold onto my firearm. Recent events have left me rather concerned for my self-defence, you see."

"That won't be necessary."

"On the contrary, I find it absolutely necessary."

He didn't think her inflexible enough to deny him this, which could only mean…

"Devil abilities will serve you far greater than any human firearm. Herein lies my second objective; Lelouch Lamperouge, I wish to offer you peerage."

Nobody in the room displayed any sort of surprise, so he surmised that they must have discussed the offer while he was absent. Most of them, especially those of Gremory's group, looked pleased, and he realised that they expected him to accept the offer. Serafall was beaming and looking just as expectant. The only exception was the sole male member of the student council, a blonde whose name he hadn't yet learnt. The boy had a dour expression, and the look he was giving was just short of a glare.

Coolly, he focused on Sona Sitri, and gave his response.

"I decline."

"Exce-…Pardon?"

She seemed truly at a loss, so she really must've not foreseen his refusal. He shrugged lightly, and repeated himself.

"I decline. You have nothing to offer me in such an arrangement."

Smiles turned to frowns, and in the case of Serafall, a pout. The contortion of her lips only served to make her seem childish; the image being accentuated by the pink outfit.

"If you'll allow me to make my case?" Sona had seemingly recovered from being caught off guard, and her prior confusion had been replaced by a steely gaze. "Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding somewhere. I would outline my reasons, and why they would be favourable to you."

"Only if you are committed to this lost cause." Remaining in good graces was one thing, being relegated to the status of a subservient chess piece was another. There was nothing she could say to change his view of this matter.

"I believe there are three distinct advantages I can provide. The first is safety. Since you remain resolved to participate in the affairs of devils, it would be prudent to ensure you have a measure of defensive ability. It would also make it easier for us – that is, my peerage – to assist you in case of trouble. Rias and I do not warn you against the dangers of the supernatural on a whim; there exist many examples of humans that met unfortunate ends upon contact with magic."

"You would make this offer out of pity?" he said, more for confirmation than anything else. He didn't truly believe she would.

"No. If I had not been convinced of your ability, I would not have made it."

"That ability being? You cannot mean to tell me that you think a chess match a measuring stick for demonic suitability."

"What I have seen from you, Lelouch Lamperouge," she returned, "is tenacity, a sharp mind, and a degree of strategic acumen. Combat ability is all well and good, but it can be trained; I value mental fortitude over the physical. But I digress. Onto my second point."

He supposed he should feel flattered.

"Whatever you search for. I haven't the faintest inkling as to your intentions, but there is no uncertainty in my mind that they would be solved quicker with the combined efforts of myself and my peerage. As heiress to the Sitri clan, there is little that can escape my investigative eye."

He nodded, conceding her point. It was something he'd already considered.

"My final point remains the least noteworthy for you, I think, but it is noteworthy all the same. Simply put; power. You hold no Sacred Gear, and I would be pleasantly surprised if you contained any latent ability, but even so, that only means you would require but a single pawn piece, something which I still own three of. The transition from human to devil provides many convenient changes, as you've no doubt heard of from Rias' peerage. You may not place much value in enhanced strength, but what of magic? A well placed minor spell often trounces pure physical ability, and I have no apprehensions that you would be able to utilise magic to its fullest potential."

She finished, and waited patiently for his response, though not as eagerly as she had beforehand. Even so, it remained the same.

"I still must decline. Nothing you have said, I deem an advantage."

"Your reasoning?"

It seemed she still hadn't given up, so he obliged her.

"Your first point. You maintain that I would be safer as a devil, but I would argue the opposite. As of now, I have no enemies. The church was an isolated incident, and concluded in a manner that would provoke no retribution. If I were to become a devil, it would earn me the enmity of the Church, the Fallen, and the Heavens, all at once. In the event of any future dealings I may have with the supernatural, I believe remaining human is the optimal course of action."

She looked as if she may have wanted to object, but allowed him to continue all the same.

"Your second point is moot. My personal affairs are just that; personal. I have no intention of sharing them with others."

This, she accepted with a begrudging nod. He pressed on.

"Your last point is the one of most contention. Magic is undoubtedly useful beyond belief, and I have no reservations as to my race itself. For all intents and purposes, I do not believe becoming a devil would serve to make me any less human."

That certainly produced more than a few smiles.

"I also hold no reservations as to your treatment of your peerage. From all that I have seen and heard, you act fair, just, and never overstep your bounds. It may only be a matter of time, but I allege that it isn't."

The faintest of blushes had coloured her cheeks at the praise, and Serafall was now giving him exaggerated winks from behind her.

"However."

He gauged his next words carefully. They needed the severity to communicate meaning, but framing them too harshly would only invite hostility.

" _I am_ _not your pawn_. Nor will I ever be. On this matter, I remain resolute."

"It doesn't work that way!" exclaimed the blonde from the student council, who seemed torn between rejecting him and supporting the President. "The pieces are suited to the person; you can't just pick a better piece because you want to!"

"You misunderstand," he said calmly, "the piece itself is unimportant. I am deferential to none other."

"Pres- "

"Enough, Saji."

Sona had removed her glasses to rub at the bridge of her nose; a habit, it seemed. She waited until she had replaced them to speak.

"Honestly, such firmly held belief only makes the idea of recruiting you more appealing, but as I can see that you are immovable on this issue, there is nothing to be done."

She paused, and shot him a grin that was almost smug. "At least, for now. You will learn that I do not admit defeat easily, Lelouch."

"I would ex- "

"Ooh!"

Their exchange was interrupted by Serafall, who had begun clapping furiously, tucking her wand under one arm in an effort to free her hands for the action. "How romantic! So-tan and Lulu-chan make such a good match, don't you think, Ria-chan?"

Whatever answer the redhead might've had was drowned out by a loud "No!" that made several occupants of the clubroom jump slightly.

"You've got the order wrong!" cried out Issei. The boy had remained quiet until this point, so the outburst had caught everyone by surprise. One by one, they all turned to face him, the sudden scrutiny making the brunette deflate a little. Nevertheless, Issei continued.

"I, too, think the President has great breasts! I would like nothing more than to do many things with them! But!"

The singular word was emphasised with a finger jabbed into the air, as if accusing the very Heavens of wrongdoing.

"Saji already said it first!" Issei pointed out. "There is a code that must be honoured Lelouch, and that code says that until President gives her response to him, you can't do anything! Would you ignore this, and trample on the dreams of all men? Would you have society brought to its knees?!"

The rant finished, and left Issei with his fist held to eye level, firm resolve taking hold in the hazel orbs.

"Hyou-…No, Issei!" yelled the boy he now knew as Saji. "You would do this for me? When we met only today?"

They were both posing now, and he made a half-hearted attempt to scrounge for a memory more ridiculous than this. He came up short.

"Of course!" declared Issei, the heat of the moment clearly getting to the boy's head. "Genshirou Saji, we are brothers-in-arms! No, breasts! Forever chasing the harem route, we stand together, and die together!"

The boys had clasped hands now, and were doing their best imitation of a brotherly handshake. He tried to tell himself that the taste of bile in his mouth was because of the sight, and not because he had thrown up earlier, but one of the failings of a genius is that self-deception becomes a lot harder to achieve.

The entire room, even Serafall, seemed either happy to watch the ongoing scene, or lost for words entirely, so he provided a select few for them.

"I'm going home."

This time, when he went for the door, nobody stopped him.

* * *

The following day and subsequent weeks, his life managed to further deviate from the path of normalcy.

Issei had apparently taken his timely departure as surrender, and now spent copious amounts of effort trying to convert him to increasingly more perverse beliefs. The cheery fashion in which the boy endeared himself to others was reminiscent of Rivalz, in spite of the fact that the crass content of his speech distanced the two greatly in his mind.

Lunchtimes spent in Kiba's company were no longer limited to the two of them, as with Issei's increasingly frequent arrivals, so came a multitude of others, for better or worse. As more time was spent amongst the boy's companions, he began to settle into a routine that, while perhaps not exactly comfortable, was agreeable enough to be pleasant.

Asia Argento was kind to a fault, and her considerate words and gentle air called to mind memories of his beloved sister Nunnally. They bled into his treatment of her, and he oft found himself patiently explaining, along with the others, facets of modern life that were foreign to the girl, easing her out of her sheltered upbringing provided by the church. She was a constant companion to Issei, who she doted on like a fussy girlfriend, though her heavy blushes accompanied by the boy's embarrassed denials told him they hadn't quite progressed that far.

The two of them became somewhat of a permanent fixture in his and Kiba's mealtime bastion, which at this point, had become a daily occurrence. The regularity meant that inevitably, they would be discovered by the reason that had driven them here in the first place, and indeed, they had. When Rias had decided to join them one day, Himejima in tow, they had unknowingly brought along the attention of half the school, forcing the group to relocate in search of peace and quiet.

Apologetic of her unintentional blunder, the Gremory heiress had offered the use of her clubroom instead, and so, he found his feet making their way to the old schoolhouse each lunch break. It was tucked away in the corner of the Academy grounds, hidden by a copse of trees tall enough to conceal the three-story building and its Victorian-era architecture. Naturally, this led to the entirety of the Occult Research Club joining him for his meals, which they had been surprised to find that he made himself.

Toujou, who until now had always spent her own breaks in the clubroom, appeared faintly disgruntled at the influx of people, but accepted their presence all the same. It grew apparent to him that the girl rarely spoke, taking a disinterested tone whenever she deigned to do so, and the trait reminded him much of Anya Alstreim.

The suitability of the comparison to the Knight of Six spurred his thoughts in similar directions with the rest of the peerage, and as time passed and he came to know them better, other similarities to his old friends and foes made themselves known. Through small gestures and quirks of speech they shone through, and though they were never as accurate as to make him lose his composure, they were enough to occasionally confront him with flashes of unease.

They paled in contrast to the feelings of discomfort he felt at the hand of Akeno Himejima, however, and were quickly discarded as he instead scrambled for ways to ignore euphemisms and dodge suggestions. The Queen spun the provocative into an art form, and, apparently deciding that Issei was too easy a target, redirected her teasing towards him.

It began a deranged game of cat-and-mouse, where she would attempt to ensnare him into making a double-entendre of his own, only for him to weasel out with a carefully crafted phrase that feigned obliviousness. While he won their verbal jousts more often than not, escaping with his dignity intact, they never failed to elicit a blush from even the coolest members of the room, something Himejima seemed to take great pleasure in.

Theirs was not the only peerage he interacted with on a day-to-day basis; with Sona making good on her promise to redouble her efforts in recruiting him. He was called to the student council at every available opportunity – not many, as he was an exemplary student – and needled for personal details at every meeting.

They made sure to never truly breach his privacy, but they did everything but in an attempt to find a weakness of his they could exploit, a desire they could lure him with. All they managed to find was a lack of one.

They quickly became known to him by name, and while his interactions with them didn't hold the same familiarity as with Gremory's peerage, they certainly became better acquainted to him than the rest of the student body. Even Genshirou Saji had warmed to him, the blonde having been convinced of his non-intentions towards Sona by a combination of Issei's and his assurances.

His increased closeness with the Devils of Kuoh Academy gave him an inlet into their discussions of the supernatural, so, when they began hiding something from him, it was all too easy to tell.

It was evident that something unpleasant had occurred from the sudden dampened mood and sullen looks, which affected Gremory's peerage more so than the Student Council, indicating a differing level of involvement. He didn't pry, knowing it would be futile, and instead allowed them the space needed to overcome whatever troubles they had.

He used the time to pursue his own endeavours, and though so far his searches for an alternate method of contacting the Angels proved fruitless, he was still unwilling to take the direct path through the church. He was not for lack of other options, however, and while he kept true to his word in that he stopped gambling, he maintained contact with certain figures that had proved useful to him before.

The bartender who served as a dealer for his previously regular games hadn't so much as batted an eye when he displayed Freed Sellzen's bulky silver gun, forsaking surprise in lieu of professionalism with the promise of information within the month. The weapon was handed over, alongside a hefty amount of money. The sword remained in his possession, hidden in a false drawer in his residence.

Further insight into the Occult Research Club's situation was given when Kiba stated that they would be absent from school for ten days; to ready themselves for an upcoming Rating Game, according to the Knight. He received the news without protest, and wished them luck in their preparations, knowing an explanation would be provided soon enough.

Said explanation arrived on the eleventh day since their departure; an embroidered letter placed on his dining room table by an unknown yet undoubtedly arcane deliveryman. He opened it and read the message once over, taking careful note of the elaborate lettering on the front, and intricate magic circle on the back.

Placing the letter down on the table once more, he headed upstairs to examine his wardrobe, replaying the first line of words upon the paper in his mind.

 _Lelouch Lamperouge, you are hereby invited to the wedding of Riser Phenex and Rias Gremory, to be held…_


	4. Chapter 4

"Hard at work, are we?"

Sirzechs Lucifer looked up from his desk to the speaker, stretching his arms above his head as he did so. He contemplated ignoring the question – it would hardly be the first time Ajuka had shown up to bother him, after all – but the draining tension in his body as a result of the stretch convinced him to extend his impromptu break. Ignoring the remaining mound of files in front of him, he responded to his newly arrived friend.

"No rest for the wicked, they say. And what are we if not the most wicked of all?"

His green-haired associate released a snort. "As if I haven't heard that particular one before. But I suppose several centuries of tedium is enough to blunt even the sharpest of wits; though yours was dull to begin with."

He brushed off the friendly jab with a smile. "Indeed. It is a cruel world we live in, where nothing can stand before the infinite, heartless taskmaster that is paperwork."

"Not even the engagement party tomorrow?" Ajuka queried.

"Alas, not even that," he said, shaking his head in mock horror. "Grayfia says I'm to continue my duties until an hour before the ceremony, and to resume them immediately afterwards."

"You seem remarkably unconcerned about the whole affair, considering who it is your sister is marrying."

The question was offhanded in a way that came natural to few. If he hadn't known the asker for most of his life, it may have yet fooled him. A smug grin crept its way onto his features as he spoke his next words.

"Why, Ajuka, you almost seem _concerned_. Is my well-being of such import to you?"

The other devil rolled his eyes. "Of course not, Gremory. You know full well why I'm here. Out with it; what have you got planned?"

"It wounds me that the good sir Astaroth thinks I would interfere with my beloved sister's day of happiness. The very notion leaves me positively heartbroken!"

He accompanied the melodramatic words with an aggrandised show of clutching at his heart, scrunching up his eyes in false pain in the process. Seconds passed, and he cracked open one of them to peek at Ajuka's reaction. There was a notable lack of one, and his fellow devil was gazing at him with a thoroughly impassive look, paired with a rigid posture. A few more seconds passed as they stared at one another.

Then, simultaneously, both broke into wide grins, dropping their respective facades.

"So," Ajuka said good-naturedly, taking a seat opposite from him, "what's it going to be?"

He waved, conjuring two glasses of wine for them to share. His companion took one and waited patiently for him to begin.

"You are aware of my sister's new pawn?"

"The bearer of the Great Welsh," confirmed Ajuka. "Then, you think he is a match for the Phenex boy alone?"

It was a testament to their prolonged friendship; that the current Beelzebub had discerned his plan so quickly. He nodded, and provided explanation.

"The wielder of the Boosted Gear is exceedingly tenacious, and displays an impressive grasp of his abilities; when taken into consideration the short amount of time he has been allowed access to them. During the Rating Game, he fought until he passed out and continued standing beyond that. Rias has found herself an excellent servant."

"I daresay she has, if the boy has truly used eight pawns. Grayfia will ferry him to the hall, then? I notice she isn't hovering around you like she usually is."

He smiled wryly, remembering how his wife had lectured him about neglecting his duties while she was gone. "She's watching over the boy as we speak. She'll see to it he gets there at the appropriate time."

"And if the boy should fail?" Ajuka said, taking a sip of wine.

"He won't," he returned assuredly, "but should the worst occur, I will annul the marriage myself."

His colleague sighed. "Most of the clan heads would crucify you for that. They'd call for your resignation of office."

"A small price to pay for my sister's future freedom," he shrugged, "besides, those pure-blood advocates are in need of a good wake-up call. With the new generation of reincarnated devils, arranged marriages are becoming a thing of the past."

"That they are," Ajuka agreed. "Speaking of which, I also came to inform you that I won't be attending the party. A recent research development has left me rather occupied for time."

He swallowed a mouthful of red liquid, and accepted the words without complaint. "I hadn't actually expected you to come. I know very well how boring you find such functions."

"Mmm," mumbled Ajuka indifferently. "I should be going then, once I finish this. I shudder to think what Grayfia would do to me if she found I had distracted you from your work."

He was about to respond, but the detection of a familiar presence approaching stopped him in his tracks. A cursory glance at Ajuka told him the devil had also noticed, and both wine glasses and their half-emptied contents disappeared with the wave of a hand and the _snap_ of fingers.

Not a moment too late, as the presence manifested itself in the room right after. The newcomer took the form of a woman in her early twenties, her long, silver hair fashioned into four braids – two at the front, two at the back – with each embellished by a single blue ribbon. The colour was further displayed in her clothing; the otherwise azure maid outfit being tastefully accentuated by segments of white. Despite the subservient nature of the ensemble, she exuded a commanding aura; perhaps due to the disciplined confidence that schooled her features.

"Grayfia?" he asked, "Is something amiss?"

A small frown alighted her face at the words, though it was more quizzical than troubled. Her silver eyes swept the room, taking in the two occupants, and she gave a light bow.

"Master Lucifer, Master Beelzebub. There is no problem, however…"

They waited as she took a pause to compose her next words.

"…There was a boy; a human one. He arrived and claimed to be a friend of Mistress Gremory and her peerage. It was vouched for by the young bishop, Miss Argento, so I saw no harm in introducing myself. He- "

"This boy," Ajuka cut in, "did he have black hair? Violet eyes, above average height?"

"Yes," replied Grayfia, unperturbed by the verbal intrusion. "He named himself as Lelouch Lamperouge. Does Master Beelzebub know of him?"

Ajuka didn't respond directly, choosing to instead clap his hands together once cheerfully. "Excellent! Tell me, what did he do?"

"Initially, he asked if I was there to prevent any interference with the engagement party tomorrow. When I denied, he asked me… he then asked if I was there to do the opposite."

"Sirzechs, it seems as if your dastardly scheme has been uncovered," said an amused Ajuka. "And by a human boy no less."

"I do believe an explanation is in order," he returned, giving the green-haired devil an accusing look. "I take it you have some stake in the boy?"

"I'm not the only one. Have you talked to Serafall recently?"

"No," he answered, "but I'm beginning to think I should, and in the near future. Grayfia, how did the boy know of the wedding?"

"That is the matter which I have returned to discuss, Master Lucifer. The boy held an invitation, one issued by the Gremory House. It was legitimate, and he claimed to be unaware of the sender, neither of which is a complication per se… but he professed his intention to attend tomorrow."

"Wait," said Ajuka sharply, "he plans to use it?"

"You were the one who gave him his invite, weren't you," he stated rhetorically. "Then, didn't you intend for this?

"Not at all. I just wanted to observe his response," the now frowning devil explained. "It was a judge of his character. I had not placed him as one to pull such an ignorant stunt, however. Does he not realise his presence will incite the disdain of every blood purist in the room?"

"When I told him as much, he assured me he had already taken that into account," said Grayfia. "But obviously, I am unconvinced. Do I have permission to return and confiscate it, then, Master Lucifer?"

"Of course," he replied. "We can hardly have a human attend a devil's gathering."

She gave another light bow, doubtlessly preparing to leave, but was prevented by Ajuka, who had held up a hand to catch her attention. "One moment, Grayfia."

"Yes, Master Beelzebub?"

"Did the boy say why he would be attending?"

"His exact words were 'It would be an opportunity I cannot pass up'."

Ajuka nodded once at the words, as if to drive away any lingering doubts. "…Then I must request you let him be."

"Ajuka…" he warned, "while I can ensure his safety for the most part, there are still more than several attendees who will not take kindly to his presence."

"He can handle a few snide whispers and taunts," his friend said dismissively. "Though if it will make you feel better, I believe I will be going now, if only to see what transpires. You wouldn't happen to have a spare invitation, would you?"

He eyed his friend warily, but accommodated him all the same. Sorting through the files on his desk produced an embroidered letter sealed with the crest of House Gremory; a sigil of a crimson rose encased in three rings equal in hue. He handed it over, and it was tucked away into some hidden compartment in the devil's clothes.

"Would you care to elaborate upon your fascination with this 'Lelouch'?" he asked.

"Truly, I had only meant to learn about the boy, and how he managed to ingratiate himself with the sisters of both Leviathan and Lucifer. It is also not often a human seeks after me by name, and even rarer that they wish to hold discourse."

He knew there was more to it than that, from the way Ajuka – almost imperceptibly – narrowed his eyes while speaking.

"And?" he said tolerantly.

"…And he beat me at chess. Granted, I was not committed to the first few moves, but the fact remains I was soundly defeated."

Now that _was_ interesting. "Nobody has done that since Falbium," he noted.

"Yes," Ajuka agreed. "Of course, simply being a prodigal chess player means nothing in of itself. But it has been a long time since I've had such a fine opponent. Even if my investigations push the boundaries of etiquette, I believe they will be worth it."

"I can see why you would take an interest in the boy," said Grayfia, "but to send him your invitation is a little excessive, is it not?"

"Ah," said Ajuka,"it held a double meaning; somewhat of a joke. Ask Serafall about him and you'll understand. With that cleared up, will you be returning now, Grayfia?"

"No. If the boy is to keep it, then I have no need to. Issei Hyoudou awoke earlier than expected. Well, I should say he was awoken, and rather violently no less. I have already passed him Master Lucifer's message, and his own invitation."

"Then it is I that shall be off," nodded Ajuka to each of them. "Sirzechs. Grayfia."

"I'll look forward to seeing you there tomorrow Ajuka," he said.

"A word, Master Beelzebub, before you go? To Master Lucifer, as well."

"Something you needed, dear?" he queried.

"Must I again remind Master Lucifer to refer to me as Grayfia while working?" she said sternly. "And yes, just a simple question. Would either of you care to explain why the room smells slightly of alcohol?"

He instantly paled, knowing exactly where this line of interrogation would lead. Seeking support, he looked swiftly in Ajuka's direction, but an audible _snap_ told him his friend had already made his escape, leaving him to the mercy of his wife.

"That traitor," he muttered under his breath. He gazed at the spot where the green-haired devil had been previously, and tried very hard to disregard Grayfia as she slowly stepped up to him, looking down at him from where she stood over his seated position. It was hard to ignore her next words, however, as they came in a tone that tolerated no disobedience.

" _Master Lucifer_ , I think we need to have a very detailed conversation on _exactly_ what is appropriate in the workplace."

* * *

Five twenty-six in the evening. _Tick tock. Tick tock._

The sound of his alarm clock as it counted forwards was almost deafening to Issei's ears. Seated on the edge of his bed, he fought the urge to check it again. Looking wouldn't make the time pass quicker. Looking wouldn't make his fight come any sooner, though it was already soon enough in his eyes. In the better part of an hour, he'd be in a wedding hall. He didn't think he'd ever attended one before. Maybe as a child, when he couldn't remember?

He could hear the sounds of his mother preparing dinner downstairs. From the constant exchange of muffled voices, Asia was probably helping.

He lost against the urge, and checked the time again. Half a minute since he'd last looked. Half a minute closer.

The invitation given to him by the scary maid lay in his left pocket, carefully folded. He verified it was there again anyway, just to make sure. He couldn't lose it, not now.

Another glance at the clock, another half-minute gone by. Lelouch would be at the wedding by now, accompanied by the other members of the Occult Research Club.

[Never before have I met young of your kind quite like that one.]

He jumped slightly, startled by the sudden words. A peek at his left arm revealed that it was still normal, no scarlet gauntlet, no keen-edged claws.

"You can talk when I'm not wearing the Boosted Gear?"

Ddraig had first made himself known yesterday, while he was still unconscious, yet he still remembered their meeting with crystal clarity. The being titled 'The Red Dragon Emperor', sealed into his Sacred Gear by the combined efforts of the Three Factions. It was kind of scary that he had something like that inside him.

[Naturally. I am as much a part of you as you are of me, bonded in soul. My existence is not so weak as to be limited to only your left arm, whelp.]

He rubbed the arm in question, uncertain.

"…Do you think I can do it, Ddraig?"

[A foolish question. A dragon needs not contemplate his victory. Only how it will happen.]

He cringed a little. They were all so confident he would succeed. The maid, Buchou's brother, Lelouch, Ddraig. What if he couldn't do it? What if he let them down? He was weak. He'd lost before, in the Rating Game. He couldn't keep his promise of winning to Buchou. He couldn't even save Asia from dying.

[Yet the latter remains happily alive, and the former, you are about to rescue, with every means at your disposal. Cease your brooding. It is unbecoming.]

He took a deep breath. It was true. The maid had given him the invitation, and words from her master. ' _If you want to save my sister, barge into the hall.'_ All the greater, Lelouch had even given him a course of action, with a little contribution from Ddraig. His hurried explanations had been brushed off in the older boy's usual cool tone.

' _What you have told me of is not true immortality. There are ways it can be conquered. Tell me, in what manner does Ris- …The gem on your gauntlet seems to be flashing at me."_

In hindsight, it may have been a little silly to rely so much upon another only a year or so his senior, and one that was human no less, but the upperclassman had exhibited such calm confidence and willingness to help that they'd overshadowed any doubts he may have had about Lelouch's intentions.

Despite the popularity with girls, and suicidal antics, and dislike of talking about all things lewd - how _could_ he? – the guy was kind and generous. Very generous. He was beginning to run out of space under his bed, with the amount of material he was buying these days. But that was all he'd thought about Lelouch, until yesterday.

Who knew the older boy had such a wicked streak?

[He is a fine flight-fellow. It will be a fight worthy of a dragon.]

"If… if it works, Ddraig, and I somehow pull it off...you're sure it won't ki-"

[It is folly to worry for an enemy's health. But to assuage your concerns, no, it will not. The blood of the Phoenix is not so weak. Excruciating pain is another matter.]

He twitched slightly. Pain. Right. He could still almost feel Riser's blows from the Rating Game. Man, his manga made it look so easy. The heroes on pages didn't seem to care about whatever punishment they took. Cuts, bruises, and shredded clothing were a lot more trouble than ink made them out to be.

…Maybe he didn't mind the last one so much though. While his future opponents probably wouldn't also have all-female peerages, a man could still dream.

"Hey, Ddraig?"

No response, but he knew the dragon was listening.

"Did _you_ ever have, what'd you call them, 'flight-fellows'?"

He thought of his club members, their kindness and camaraderie. How they put up with him with barely any reprimand, taking his perverted outbursts with good-humour. Well, except Koneko anyway, who always responded to them with a sharp tongue, breaking her usual stoniness. He was sure that she was super nice on the inside though. Probably. Maybe.

[Perhaps. Perhaps not. It may be that, millennia ago, I was once no bigger than you, and flew with other hatchlings of my kind. It may also be that I was always Ddraig. Always the Great Welsh. Born into existence in all the glory that entailed. It is unimportant.]

"You don't remember?"

[Have I need of childhood memories? Would you question a maelstrom of its adolescence? Storms and their ilk are kin to dragons. On a whim, naught but desolation is left in their wake. They care not for human values.]

"That's kind of… sad."

[That is a human value.]

He couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he didn't. Another three minutes passed, and a knock at the door broke his reverie.

"Come in."

It opened to reveal Asia, still donning a frilly white apron from where she had recently been cooking. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, but that was all the movement she took, and they stared at one another, from where he sat and she stood.

The blonde girl's eyes shifted to his left arm, and when they returned to his face, they were noticeably downcast. Then, she took a deep breath and straightened, and the emotion was replaced with temper **e** d steel.

"Dinner will be ready when you get back. There's an extra spot at the table, too."

He mustered the widest smile he possibly could, uncaring of how silly it made him look. "Thanks Asia. I'll definitely bring her back."

She gave him her own smile in return, as full of unguarded trust as it always was. "I know. You promised already."

She skipped forward and pulled him into a tight hug, holding it for several seconds before heading back to the door, closing it behind her on her way out. Just before it fully shut, she peeked through the gap at him, and spoke again, green eyes darting in every direction but his.

"Um… you know, Ise, when you get back, we can… I'll…"

He tilted his head slightly, waiting for her to finish.

"…Never mind. Good luck! And tell the others I said hello!"

His door clicked shut, and he could hear the soft thumping of her footfalls on the floor as she returned to the kitchen. From the frequency, it sounded like she was running.

He only had a brief moment to wonder why before Ddraig spoke again.

[It is almost time.]

"…Yeah."

He stood up and walked over to his desk, examining the two objects atop the centre, both provided by the former nun. A glass flask of holy water, stoppered with a cork. A metallic crucifix, one small enough to fit within the palm of his clenched hand. He remembered the way Lelouch had woken him up with the latter, to 'test its effectiveness.' Even if Asia had been right there to heal him, it had still _hurt_ damn it.

Though, he supposed that was the point.

He placed the flask in his pocket with his right hand, retrieving the invitation as he did so. Upon his left, he called into being his Sacred Gear, noting with awe, as always, how it seemed so perfectly moulded to his arm.

"Do it, Ddraig."

No response, but again, he knew the dragon was listening. An uncomfortable numbing sensation passed through the limb under the gauntlet, similar to as if he'd lay on it for an extended period of time. When the feeling passed, he grabbed the cross and made a fist, securing it in the centre of his left hand.

This time, it didn't burn him.

* * *

The general atmosphere, despite the bubble of light chatter and strains of the magically conducted orchestra, was decidedly stifling.

Lelouch could feel it in the way the other guests' gazes bore into him when they thought he wasn't aware. A few even discarded the pretence entirely, and actively examined him with looks of hostility. It was not as bad as his worst expectations, however, and he attributed that to the attendance of not one, but two of the leaders of the underworld.

Sirzechs Lucifer. Ajuka Beelzebub. The former, a doting older brother restrained by his position. The latter, the most probable culprit in his unexpected acquisition of the invitation. Thankfully, neither had sought fit to seek him out and converse yet, likely knowing that it would cause the already-tense mood to degenerate further.

He was glad he'd come. Already, he had more than Rias or Sona could ever tell him. There were no earth shattering revelations, as there had been the night of the church, but nuance and detail served fine in their place. Information was always the first step, no matter the game.

The diverse, opulent clothing of the devils inferred their varied tastes, as well as their global reach. Cheongsam, sari, and ball-gown danced with tuxedo, hakama, and military uniform as their wearers took to the floor. Every member of the room was considerably attractive by human standards, meaning the ones who took older appearances were making a show of seniority.

It was also worthy of note that it was only the devils of younger appearance that wore the multicultural garments that contrasted with the traditional western suits and dresses; and it was yet again only they who would deign to speak with him; either unable to realise his human status, or uncaring.

He himself was wearing a nondescript black suit, conservative in every which way. He'd considered something gaudier, but decided it would probably behove him to be inoffensive today.

Kiba was leaning against the wall in the far corner, similarly dressed, though the blonde's garb was white in colour. Toujou was by the refreshments table, adorned in a simple pink frock. Himejima had chosen Japanese attire, and the dignified kimono she wore was so deep a shade of midnight blue it was almost black. Standing next to him by the fringes of the centre crowd, she could very easily pass as his sister. Several had already made that mistake, taking their shared black hair and violet eyes as erroneous proof.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to call me 'older sister'?"

Her voice was suggestive as always, though it held a slight forced undertone this time around.

"I'm older than you," he pointed out.

"And just who was it that was so rude as to tell you a lady's age?"

The Kuoh Academy student records, but there was no sense in revealing as such. "Lucky guess."

"I have my ways of getting information out of the uncooperative, you know," she smiled.

"I'm sure you do," he evaded **.**

He waited for the inevitable retort, but none came. His conversational partner had been distracted, her attention caught by the pair of figures across the hall, surrounded by a throng of party-goers.

Rias Gremory sported a modest red evening dress a degree lighter than her hair, and was occupied by the task of making polite small talk to her well-wishers. Beside her, Riser Phenex was decked in attire much like his own, though it was worn with greater casualness. The blonde would-be groom had lived up to each one of Issei's descriptions, and even now he could see the conceit upon the man's features.

He couldn't fault the man for it. In truth, Riser Phenex bore none of his enmity. The devil was naught but a product of his environment, vain from lack of failure and hardship. Much like Clovis had been.

 _Bang._

The great doors at the end of the hall slammed open, revealing the not-quite-imposing form of Issei Hyoudou. The noise caught the attention of the entire room; the music of the orchestra suddenly seeming clamorous in the bewildered silence, but even that died out as the boy shouted his piece.

"RISER PHENEX! I, Issei Hyoudou, challenge you to single combat for the hand of Rias Gremory!"

The scowl on Riser's face told him his predictions had been in the right. Such an open declaration could not be refused, for fear of losing face.

"Or are you too scared of me to fight, you overcooked chicken?"

The sentiment certainly had the intended effect, and what was previously an annoyed scowl became venomous.

"I accept," spat the duel recipient. "You will learn your place _boy._ I'll make it so you won't ever take a step out of being a low-class devil."

"Now wait just-"began an aged devil in formal military wear, but he was cut off by the magically magnified voice of Sirzechs Lucifer.

"Wonderful! It seems as if we'll be having some further entertainment for the night, and what better than a match between two legendary beings? Wouldn't you agree, Ajuka?"

"Dragon against Phoenix," mused the green-haired devil. "It will certainly be a sight to behold."

The room broke into whispers at the words, snippets of which he caught as everybody moved to clear the centre of the room.

"…then he is…"

"…Longinus?"

"…that…Welsh?"

"…love triangle!"

The protester's objections died out amidst the wave of people, and with a minute or two of spectators shuffling into position, the stage was set. He secured himself a spot by the Occult Research Club sans Rias, who was standing by her brother, her face displaying a mix of utter shock and cautious optimism. Her three peerage members fared similarly, and Kiba sidled up to him, gaining his attention.

"You were with him while we stayed at the Gremory House for the wedding. What happened?"

He glanced around before he answered. "Later."

Kiba gave a hesitant nod, and settled in to watch the fight. From the way the blonde's right hand was twitching, it was obvious the knight longed to be of help.

Issei and Riser took their positions across from each other, and a fearless stare matched an arrogant grin.

This would be his first experience of a true supernatural battle. From here, his path would be decided.

"Buchou! Please let me use promotion!"

The heiress gave a sharp bob of her head towards her pawn's request, and settled her features into grim determination.

"Promote, Knight!"

He could see no visible change in the boy, but Riser clearly thought otherwise.

"Hah! That's the extent of your strength? Was a queen beyond your abilities?"

Similar derisive mutters echoed around the hall. He disagreed. Why commit power to where it wasn't needed? Speed was all that was necessary here.

"Are both participants prepared?" came the gleeful tone of Sirzechs, looking to each combatant in turn. When both gave their consent, the red-haired devil continued. "Then, begin!"

[Boost!]

Immediately, Issei began a mad dash towards his opponent, fists clenched, only to be met with the surging wall of fire that spewed forth from Riser's outstretched hand. The boy employed his enhanced swiftness to dart to the right, guarding his vulnerable side with the scarlet gauntlet upon his left arm.

An inferno erupted from the back of Riser, coalescing into a pair of blazing wings, and the devil lifted his other arm, aiming both palms towards the brunette. The air of the hall began to shimmer and glisten as arcane barriers were raised to rebuff the subsequent firestorm. Issei had no such defences, and was forced to retreat backward, still shielding himself with his Sacred Gear.

[Boost!]

The same happened again. The boy charged his opponent once more, only to have to involuntarily withdraw by a roaring conflagration. Again. Again. Back and forth, to and fro. The temperature of the room grew noticeably warmer, fuelled by the constant outpouring of heat. Shadows danced madly upon the walls, revelling in the display of destruction.

[Boost!]

"Is that all you got?!" Issei's academy uniform was more ash than fabric by now, and brown hair had been riddled with soot, making it seem black. "My mom cooks with fire hotter than this!"

An enraged snarl was the response as Riser took his first movement of the match, stepping forward to close in on his prey. "Shut your mouth! The Boosted Gear is wasted on you!"

The burning onslaught ceased for a moment, but only a moment as the pyrokinetic inhaled once to refocus his efforts. The exhalation was accompanied with the discharge of a crashing wave of flames, the largest yet, eclipsing the frame of Issei several times over as it rushed madly forwards to devour all in its path.

Which was why Riser was blinded from what happened next.

[Boost!]

Issei broke into a sprint, head first into the oncoming assault. A flask was pulled from the boy's pocket and smashed upon the Boosted Gear, dousing the gauntlet in Holy Water. Disregarding the stray droplets that seared skin as effectively as the flames, the promoted pawn made a slashing motion with his drenched arm, carving himself a path through the fire.

An inordinate amount of steam billowed forth from where arm met inferno, and obscured the brunette further. The blonde devil continued to advance, pouring forth ruination. Onlookers held their silence as they watched Phoenix draw unknowingly closer to Dragon.

With a metre left, the pair's eyes met, and Riser's face contorted into one of abject shock.

[Boost!]

Issei's armoured palm, unclenched for the first time, slammed into the man's abdomen and caused both of them to crash onto the ground in a tangled heap. Riser let out a bellow of pain and hauled the boy off, allowing the audience to see the cause of the phoenix's distress. Tiny as it was, many almost missed it.

A plain crucifix lay embedded into the chest of the fallen man, forced deep into the flesh by the full momentum of the boy's charge. The surrounding tissue had already begun to boil, sending out clouds of smoke. Regenerative flames licked the edges of the wound, trying and failing to mend and heal as the foreign object remained.

Both combatants forced themselves to stand, only to slam into the ground once more as they grappled with each other. Riser won out in strength and straddled Issei, forcing both hands around the boy's neck. Finesse and ability lost out to brute force and rage as the blonde devil strangled his victim.

[Boost!]

"You thought such a small cross would be enough?!" flecks of blood and spittle flew with each word. "This amount of pain is nothing! The phoenix is immortal, unkillable, _undying!"_

Already the crucifix was burning its way out of the wound, Riser having suppressed the healing flames surrounding it. Soon the holy symbol would separate, leaving the injury free to be recovered.

"Then you won't mind if I help you out!" Issei choked out fiercely, grabbing the arms restraining his neck.

[Transfer!]

Riser's burning wings flared to thrice their height with the influx of power, losing their shape as they blended into a single giant appendage. The smoking wound suffered likewise, wild flames bursting into life and fighting for dominance with clouds of thick smoke. Black, red and orange mixed as flesh regenerated, dissolved, and regenerated again, forcing the cross further into the devil's body.

Riser Phenex's screams lasted until unconsciousness, and left no doubts as to who had the won the match.

Ajuka Beelzebub began to clap.

The action was copied by the majority of the bystanders, interspersed by several cheers. It seemed that despite the outcome, Devils held merit and ability first and foremost.

"He actually did it," grinned Kiba from beside him.

"My, what a vicious method." Himejima had produced an elegant fan from the folds of her kimono, and was using it to cool herself.

"Good job." Toujou had somehow acquired a plate piled high with appetisers,and had begun eagerly devouring her way through them.

"You aren't going to go congratulate him?" he asked.

"Well, I would hardly want to interrupt _that_ ," came Kiba's response.

He looked back over to the centre of the hall just in time to catch the sight of Issei being tackled by Rias. The heiress pulled her servant into a tight embrace, producing a few wolf whistles from the younger, rowdier guests.

The same was done to Riser's body by a well-groomed blonde gentleman, and when the unfamiliar devil pulled away, so too did the cross. It was discarded by a fiery hand, indicating the man as a blood relative to the loser of the duel.

"Lord Phenex!" Sirzechs Lucifer called out. "Will medical attention be necessary?"

"Not at all. In fact, my son should make a full recovery within the hour." The clan head turned to Issei, directing the boy a jovial smile. "No doubt due to the shot of power you provided. Issei Hyoudou, was it? That was rather ingenious, using my House's hereditary ability against us. I hope to enjoy what the future has in store for you, young dragon. Perhaps a rematch, once you gain your own peerage?"

The pawn broke free of his master's hug and gave a hurried bow as ingrained habits took over.

"Ah, um, thank you! I'll look forward to it! But-"

He suddenly had a sickening premonition. Surely not? Issei could not be-

"-it wasn't my idea." The boy's sentence paused as his brown eyes scanned the room.

He had already begun to duck behind Kiba, but it was to no avail.

"Lelouch! There you are! Were you watching? Your plan worked great!"

He cursed inwardly even as he plastered a smile on his face. Every line of vision in the hall was now being aimed at him. Whereas before they had been stifling, now they were suffocating. They would no longer believe a total denial.

"You are being far too modest. My only contribution was to suggest using the holy objects. Your draconic companion was the one who provided the method."

The comically confused look on Issei's face made for stark contrast to the tattered clothing and fresh burns. "But-"

"In any case, you should return home to recover. Those wounds seem rather severe."

"Huh?" The pawn looked down. "Oh, wow. That… I hurt a lot."

Issei's knees weakened, but the boy was caught again and steadied by Rias. "S-sorry about that Buchou."

"Oh don't be silly; that's my line. Come on, let's get you to Asia. As much I want you to myself right now, you look like you're going to pass out."

"A-as much as… wha-!"

"I hate to intrude on such a tender moment, but a question, if I may?" Ajuka stepped forward towards the two. "How did you handle the cross? It should still harm you through the Gear, even if it is one of the thirteen Longinus."

That was the second time he'd heard that term. He remembered it for future investigation.

Issei's answer was to raise his left arm into the air, displaying it in full view. At first, it seemed as if no change had happened, but with a closer look, the difference became apparent. Scarlet scales in place of scarlet plates. Obsidian talons in place of armoured claws. No viridian gem upon the back of the hand.

"Oh, Issei…" Rias exclaimed softly.

"I see. So you gave your arm to the dragon. Hmm…I wonder how the nerves connect? Tell me, how does this affect your usage of the Boosted Gear? And the sensation, how- "

"Enough, Ajuka," Sirzechs sighed. "The boy looks as if he's going to collapse. Save it for another time."

"…Indeed. My apologies. I anticipate I'll be making you a visit soon anyway, Miss Gremory. Do expect me. Well then, good evening."

The green-haired devil's eyes flicked to him once, unobtrusively, and Ajuka vanished.

"No snap," he observed.

"Pardon?" asked Kiba

"It is unimportant."

"If you say so. I'm still holding you to that explanation you know. What happened while we were gone?"

"Not here," he glanced around again. No doubt the party-goers would begin to harry him soon, after Issei made his exit. He doubted his previous feint would be enough. Perhaps, with this event, the party would end?

"Well, as the evening is yet still young," Sirzechs grandly declared, "I say we continue the celebration! It is unfortunate that we have lost the reason for this gathering, but whoever needed a reason for merrymaking?"

Damn.

Cheers sounded all-round, and the music restarted as the orchestra conductor lifted instruments into the air with a grandiose wave. An upbeat waltz resonated from the self-playing instruments, and the crowd dispersed into individual cliques.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" yelled Issei over the chatter and music. "Guys! Asia said hi!"

"Just go!" waved an amused Kiba. Himejima was chuckling lightly, and even Toujou had a slight smile, between her mouthfuls of food.

Sirzech Lucifer stepped up to his sister and her pawn, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, and the three were gone.

How he wished he could leave with them. Already he could make out curious devils approaching him from the corner of his eye. Leaving now would only exacerbate any suspicion.

Turning to the three beside him – one of which was male, and the other, far too short – he took the lesser of two evils.

"Miss Himejima, would you care to accompany me for a dance?"

The regret only grew with the increased widening of her sultry smile.

"My my, Lelouch. There's no need to be so formal. _Please_ , _call me Akeno_."

* * *

The dark-robed man lay sprawled on the marble floor, eyes upturned at the ceiling. Blood pooled beneath him, his own. The cause lay in the quartet of radiant blades that were pinned through his abdomen and into the ground. He grimaced. Stealth had never been his forte. If that insane brat Freed hadn't dropped off the radar, he wouldn't be in this position right now.

" _Who sent you?"_

His darkening eyes couldn't make out which of his four assailants had spoken, but it didn't matter.

"Fuck you," he wheezed.

"Tsk. Contact the other sects. This may not have been the only attempt at theft. If they have not been targeted yet, warn them."

Swift steps echoed as one of the four hastened to obey the orders. He didn't care. It was already too late for them.

"…I recognise you," said one of the remaining three. "You were excommunicated with that sword-crazy archbishop. I knew we should have executed your kind instead."

" _My_ kind?" he coughed out. "We're all human here."

A blade was pulled from his stomach, causing a groan of pain as it slid out.

"Yes, your kind. Astray from the path of righteousness, rejecting of His love."

A foot slammed down where the withdrawn sword had been, making him buckle and scream. He vomited, and could taste blood mixed with the acrid juices.

"Was it Valper that sent you _? Why does he want the Excaliburs?"_

The release of pressure told him the foot had been raised. He could no longer make use of his vision. Even so, he laughed. The tremors wracked his body with pain, amplifying the tang of ichor in his mouth.

" _Righteousness?"_ he gasped between bouts of mirth. " _Love?_ What use are they?"

"It is through them that God's will is done. But I would not expect you to understand."

His laughter escalated into hysterics, reverberating off the surrounding walls.

" _God? God?!_ Haven't you heard?! God is de- "

The words were rammed back down his throat by a luminescent blade.


	5. Chapter 5

"Do you realise what position that would put us in?"

He refused to concede his father's point, settling instead for a scowl. The action elicited a resigned sigh from Lord Phenex.

"Riser. Son _._ There is no shame in losing to a better opponent. There _is_ shame in immediately decrying said opponent as duplicitous. I cannot grant you what you ask of me."

"The boy had holy weapons prepared."

"To which every devil in attendance would have agreed was an acceptable tactic. The preparation of advantageous weapons is hardly uncommon. One would only require a quick glance at the annals of our race's storied history to find similar examples."

"He is weaker than me!" He made sure to never sound as if he was pleading. The very thought disgusted him.

"Undeniably so. But strength alone does not a victor make. It would do you well to learn this."

"That's what this is about then?" His scowl deepened. "You wanted to teach me a lesson at the cost of my dignity?"

"In my eyes; none was lost," his father dismissed. "You more than acquitted yourself with that display of capacity. Not since Ruval have the flames of the Phoenix burned with such vigour, for such time."

"My brother has nothing to do with this," he growled. "And in my eyes, I just lost to a low-class devil. Let me go back."

"So you can do what, exactly?" Lord Phenex had acquired a hard edge to his tone, the kind that reminded him his father only remained genial out of choice. "Make a fool of yourself? The boy has already left. You will find naught but song and dance, and they make for a poor rival in combat."

A realisation struck him. "This is about Lord Lucifer isn't it? You're scared of-"

" _Scared?_ Boy, do you know to whom you speak?" the candles in his father's study flared to life along with the man's temper. " _I am the Lord and Head of the Phenex Clan_. Our bloodline is traced back to the Phoenix of time immemorial! I did not see our lineage through years of war for it to fall to the level of a child's petulance! You speak of shame? Shame is having to reduce former comrades to dust and ash with the very fire I take pride in. Shame is being able to live on even as companions die around you. _Shame_ , is watching our noble race descend into petty squabbles over a matter as insignificant as blood purity. You think blood mattered, in the days when brother slaughtered brother and father murdered son?"

He would not be cowed by his father's old war tales. Every devil of his generation had been subject to such narratives from a young age. "Then is our House just going to-"

"The importance of blood lies in its provision of structure _._ " His father's speech had cooled in volume, though it cut in with no less vehemence. "The seventy-two Pillars exhibit order, without which there would be anarchy. But do not mistake that as the pedestal upon which you stand. The Phenex, as always, will distinguish themselves by ability _._ We will not sit back, content to lounge on the dwindling laurels of ancient titles like so many others. Already, Clans with any amount of foresight have taken action. You would be satisfied to fall behind the Sitri? The Gremory? Though ever my stalwart ally and friend, Lord Gremory has no tolerance for the wilfully ignorant; a predisposition I share."

He ground his teeth in frustration. Then it had been a set-up from the start? A test for him? "You planned this," he accused. "You wanted me to fight."

"Of course not." Lord Phenex said, tired. The room again grew dim as candlelight faded. "What purpose would that serve? I could easily have just prepared a Rating Game for you against any number of your generation. Seekvaira Agares for instance. The marriage simply would have been beneficial for you; young Rias has a head full of sense and the talent to match. But this result, though unexpected, may serve to be more effective."

"Then what do you want me to do?!" he threw his arms out wide. "Just accept it? You say you want me to prove my ability; how can I do that when you deny me a rematch?"

"If you wish to re-challenge the boy, you have my every blessing. So long as it is when he comes into his own peerage. Which he will, one day. But do not do yourself the dishonour of claiming this first duel a fraud. You- _we,_ are better than that."

He looked his father in the eye and found nothing but sincerity, despite the mask of authority it wore. Flexing fingers he hadn't realised were clenched, he expelled a heated breath and looked away.

"…Fine. I'll do it your way. Where is the boy now?"

Lord Phenex nodded, pleased. "I would suggest you wait, for now. A year or two should suffice; the boy grows fast. Besides, I imagine he may not be in the form to receive you so soon. The duel seemed to take a great toll on him."

He frowned. "Rias has a wielder of Twilight Healing in her peerage. He should have already recovered."

"That was not what I was referring to. But- Ah, yes," his father mused. "You were unconscious. Did you not wonder how your opponent was able to make use of holy objects?"

Hadn't it been because of the Boosted Gear? Surely a Longinus would suffice to-

"He sacrificed an arm. Perhaps that is not the right word, in hindsight. It would be more accurate to say it was an exchange."

The boy did _what?!_

"He…"

"It is not so dire as to require your concern." His father smiled. "Though I daresay that would go a long way into repairing your relationship with young Rias. A pity that; you got along amazingly as children."

Concern? Absurd.

"Tch. Just tell me where the boy is, old man."

"Ha!" his father barked. "Such rebellion. It reminds me of your mother, when she was young. Her temper burned brighter than any flame I ever could produce."

He glared. His father grinned wider.

"If you insist, you may issue the challenge today. I could not tell you his exact location though. Somewhere in Kuoh, no doubt, but you were already aware of that."

He jerked his head gruffly, just enough to pass as polite, and pivoted to exit the room. His father's voice followed him out.

"Do win next time won't you? A year is already too long a time for Lord Gremory to have bragging rights."

He slammed the door, and heard another muffled chuckle from behind it, annoying him further. Quick strides brought him to his own wing of the mansion, and he made for his personal chambers.

"Riser?" His queen was seated by the dressing table, brushing her long, lavender hair. "How did it go?"

"Well enough. I'll be leaving soon."

He restrained the irritation in his tone, but she knew him too well.

"I'll go with you." She moved to change out of her nightgown, but he stopped her, placing a hand on her arm.

"No. They'll refuse me if I'm not alone."

"The girls will worry," she pointed out.

"I'll be back before they wake. Go to bed, Yubelluna."

"I'll worry." She smiled teasingly, awaiting his response.

He pulled her forward and kissed her deeply, holding it for several seconds before drawing away.

"There. Now sleep. The party must have been tiring."

"As you wish, Master Phenex." She repressed a giggle. "But only because you were so convincing."

He left her to her ministrations and passed through to the next room, where he kept his favourite wines, among other collectables. Selecting a bottle and weighing it in his hand, his foul mood began to return. Mere alcohol for an arm. What an idiotic reimbursement. Was the boy even of age? Not that he cared, but they might.

He stood there, holding the red, and considered his father's words. Blood. It all came down to that, didn't it? He never quite shared the holier-than-thou attitude of some of his peers when it came to heritage, no matter what drivel Zephyrdor preached. But in the end, he'd found it more comfortable among them rather than his generation's… oddities. Rias Gremory, Sairaorg Bael, or god – _damn_ that stung – forbid, Sona Sitri _._

What guarantee had he that his challenge would be accepted, anyway? Thinking about it, he knew nothing about Rias' pawn other than the boy's lust for women. And he'd lick his father's boots before ever offering up one of his peerage to anybody.

"Tch."

This was obviously getting him nowhere. To hell with it. He'd just go and deal with the aftermath. Calling upon his magic, he began the process of transporting himself to the school that had served as the battleground of his Rating Game with Rias. As good a place as any to start. Flames consumed his body, and he began to experience the familiar feeling of disconnect that came with teleportation magic.

Just before he flared out of existence, he replaced the wine bottle onto its rack.

* * *

Lelouch was in the midst of removing his tie when he heard a loud _clatter_ from downstairs.

He frowned. Despite their earlier assurances to him, the sound didn't exactly instil confidence in the culinary prowess of the Occult Research Club. He'd welcomed their offer to return his hospitality thinking it would allow him time to gather his thoughts, but perhaps he'd misjudged the potential repercussions upon the state of his kitchen. His worries were unfounded when no further noises disturbed the late hours of the night, however, and he returned his considerations to the task of changing his clothes.

And, of course, the previous events of the evening.

In truth, part of him had still been trying to rationalise the existence of the supernatural, as any sane person would. The Geass, the Code, even they had been bound by laws, and their owners had been kept in check by enemies encased in steel and spitting gunfire. But in the face of reality – and he couldn't help but think how inept that term was – Knightmare Frames no longer seemed so formidable.

Not that it necessarily mattered. Whimsical and fanciful these devils were, choosing dance and entertainment over outrage and accusations. What did it say about the courts of Britannia, when a gathering of underworld denizens seemed so less vicious and underhanded?

He attributed it to the new generation of reincarnated devils. Modern blood with modern values. He'd been wary, expecting a social caste system similar to that of the residents of Britannia's conquered Areas, but clearly he'd just been paranoid.

Well, just because the majority of their race was well-intentioned didn't mean he would allow Issei's little blunder to pass. Probing eyes had never quite turned away from him, and he'd been forced to accompany Akeno for dance after dance. Then she'd teased him when he began to run out of breath.

He'd have to get the boy back for that one. He could-

…

No.

What was he doing? Plotting a trifling vengeance and shifting blame? He'd been the only human at a gathering of devils. It had been obvious, the outcome. He'd just disregarded it.

How long had it been since he arrived here, in this world? How long since he'd been mired in his own hypocrisy? Was he to ignore the trembling of his hands as he'd watched the duel? The very same occurrence had happened on the night of the church, when he'd gunned down Freed Sellzen.

Fear? Laughable. _Excitement_.

When had he felt that last? He'd denounced both his Father and Schneizel for their stagnancy, their refusal to pave a future, and yet here he was doing the same. Hiding behind the skirts of the powerful. Content to wait passively as slow tendrils bore uncertain fruit.

It was staggering, the depths of his own arrogance. To think he'd be granted resolution if he just waited. No green-haired witch would appear here, to grant him the power of kings. No inane contrivance would serve to throw him into the fray. No sudden divine providence to set him upon a holy crusade.

He'd considered himself lacking in purpose. Ridiculous.

Why had it not occurred to him that he could just seize his own path? To take matters into his own? It was what he'd always done. Hadn't he been the one to boldly declare that the world would not be changed without the dirtying of hands?

And yet here he was, playing the fool. Deluding himself into thinking he wanted a conventional life. If he'd wanted that, he would have allowed Rias to alter his memories. All this time he'd been seeking the extraordinary, yet balking at every turn.

Well, no longer would he mistake complacency for patience.

Throwing on the last of his casual wear, he descended the stairs, taking long, purposeful strides. Entering his living room, he was provided with the sight of six devils enjoying a light supper fare of tea and assorted snacks.

Evidently Rias had arrived with Issei and Asia without him noticing. The brunette boy was seated between the two girls, the reason for the dazed look of bliss on his face. Gone were the marks of battle, along with the aberrant draconian limb. No doubt suppressed via some obscure spell.

"Good evening," he greeted, drawing their attention. "Rias Gremory, I hope this isn't too sudden. I have a request."

A single beat, so they could process his words.

"I want you to teach me magic."

Confusion slowly gave way to consideration as she mulled over her response.

"…I see no problem with that. In fact, it is actually rather sensible, if you are to continue to interact with us. I'd be more than happy to; if you'd like, we can discuss the specifics after this."

"Oh!" chimed in Issei. "I can help too, if you want. I'm not sure how much use I'll be though."

He nodded his gratitude. "Thank you. I look forward to it."

A mundane thought struck him at the image of Kiba pouring him his own serve of tea. "You know, I'm beginning to wonder if this is going to become a regular occurrence, meeting here in my residence. I'll have to purchase more tableware."

"I certainly hope so," smiled Rias. "You keep a very good stock of tea."

"A shame there is none of the Asian variety," said Akeno wistfully. The raven-haired girl, along with Kiba and Toujou, had accompanied him directly home, and thus were still in their formal attire. The sight of a kimono clad beauty daintily holding a western-styled teacup was exceedingly strange.

He seated himself across from Rias and accepted the proffered beverage from Kiba by his side. The heiress waited until he had brought it to his mouth once, before launching into the obvious topic of interest.

"Issei tells me you were the one who devised his battle strategy."

"Only in part," he inclined his head. "Initially I had discounted the use of holy objects due to his racial nature. It is right that your gratitude should be directed towards him."

They both turned to look at Issei, prompting the boy to point at himself as if to say 'Who, me?'

"Aw, well, I mean, If Ddraig hadn't helped, I wouldn't have thought to use them either."

"The Great Welsh," breathed Rias. "I see. That does explain why the method was so… vicious. I must admit, even I thought it was more brutal than necessary. Simply dousing Riser in the holy water surely would have been enough."

Issei tilted his head quizzically. "Actually Buchou, that part really was Lelouch."

She paused, then turned to face him. "And by vicious I meant… effective. And ingenious? Well, regardless... thank you."

"I enjoyed it." Akeno gazed at him with a familiar light in her eye. " _Immensely."_

He sipped his tea.

"So…" wondered Issei,"why did you lie about that earlier?"

"I believe," explained Kiba, "that Lelouch was 'covering his tracks', as it were."

"But why would…"

"Because he is human, Issei," said Rias. "And when devils take an interest in humans, it usually ends in only one of three ways."

"Peerage, Contract, Death," summarised Toujou.

"Or a steamy night of passion," said Akeno.

"Three ways," he said. "None of which appeal to me very much, if at all."

"Why did you turn down peerage anyway, Lelouch?" asked Issei. "I mean; I know you already-"

A shrill tune interrupted the boy's question, emanating from Rias' vicinity. The heiress' eyes lit up in surprise, and she pulled out the offending device. It took the form of a slim, red cell phone, complete with a pink strap that ended in a dangling, tiny figure of a panda.

He gestured for her to take it, having a fairly good idea of who was calling.

"Excuse me," she apologised, flipping it open. "Hello?"

He used the opportunity to stir a cube of sugar into his drink.

"This is a fairly late hour, even for you, Sona."

He took a sip. The student council president had been notably absent at the engagement party. However, he was almost certain of why.

"Yes, I know."

Asia had begun to lightly doze, resting her head on Issei's shoulder. Kiba left for the kitchen to replace the biscuits Toujou had cleaned off the plate.

"I'm at Lelouch's place, why?"

Rias immediately pulled the phone away from her ear as the speaker blared indecipherable words. Indistinct as they were, he could still make out the indignation in Sona's tone.

"No, of course not!" Rias hurriedly spoke. "Everyone else is here too!"

Akeno winked at him. He focused on his tea.

"You're with- _?!_ Sona- _"_

With that reaction, there could only be a handful of candidates. Frankly, he couldn't care who it was, as long as it wasn't Serafall.

"He said what?!"

He relaxed ever so slightly back into the couch.

"I don't know, just… I don't want to see-"

…Riser Phenex.

"Fine."

In which case, how could he work this to his advantage? Magic was a good start, but he doubted its efficacy as a catch-all solution, due to its variance. His discussion with Ajuka had told him as much.

"Yes," Rias sighed. "And… thanks, Sona. I know how you feel about him."

The red-haired devil flipped her phone closed, and sighed again. "Sona is coming, Lelouch. Accompanied by Riser Phenex. I hope you don't mind."

The faintest scent of ozone permeated the room as Akeno froze a smile upon her face. Issei's knuckles had whitened, fists clenched and placed stiffly on the boy's knees. Toujou frowned.

Kiba stepped back in, carrying a plate of biscuits.

"The cake is almost ready. I-"

The blonde eyed their expressions. "Did I miss something?"

"We'll be entertaining more guests tonight," he said calmly. "Unfortunately, I think I'm out of further tableware."

Kiba looked at him warily. "And these guests would be?"

The blonde was provided his answer when embers flickered into the room, growing larger in number and more erratic in movement. A precursor to the sudden gout of fire that faded to reveal a young man with wild blonde hair. The casual blazer and half-buttoned white shirt suited Riser Phenex far better than any formal wear, and he amended his earlier comparison of the devil to Clovis. Visually, at least, the two were antithetical.

Immediately, Issei shot to his feet, placing himself between the intruder and Rias. The movement woke Asia, and the girl attempted to rub the sleep from her eyes.

"Issei?" she yawned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Asia." Issei didn't move his eyes off Riser. "Go back to sleep."

"Relax kid." The man leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. "I just came to talk."

"We have no business with you," said Rias. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, ignoring her once-fiancé. "State your piece and leave."

The doorbell rang.

Well, he supposed it was his house.

He stood, and made his way to the entrance of his residence, leaving the devils in the now-silent room behind him. The door opened to reveal Sona Sitri, complete with Academy uniform and trademark stern features. He was quite certain that student representatives did not usually have access to the addresses of other students. It seemed that despite her disciplined image, she was not above being… resourceful.

"Good evening, Sona. For the record, as long as you give prior notice; I don't mind if you arrive directly inside."

She stepped into the threshold and began to remove her shoes. "Good evening Lelouch. I appreciate the thought, but unlike some, the Sitri pride themselves on proper etiquette. Pardon my intrusion."

"Shut it, Sitri." he heard from the other room. "You were just wasting time."

Sona gave a frown of disapproval, and he followed her back into the room.

"The only reason I brought you here was became you requested it personally, and insisted it was of great importance. Don't make me regret my decision, Phenex."

Riser brushed off the warning words easily. "As it's abundantly clear I'm not welcome here; I'll get to the point. Hyoudou Issei, was it? Fight me."

Issei blinked. "…Why?"

"Take a wild guess."

"If this is about Buchou-"

"It isn't." Riser remarked irritably. "Just you and me. The terms are a Rating Game, when you become a King."

Issei seemed unsure of how to react.

Rias looked contemplative, and opened her mouth to respond. "That is a long time away. Why issue it now, and in person?"

"Does it matter? I'm here already. Just say yes, I'll leave, and we don't see each other for a year or so. Then, I get to defeat him utterly. Again."

And here was another opportunity, despite the time frame. Before Rias or Issei could respond, he interrupted.

"It would hardly be fair to propose such an arrangement without incentive. Might I suggest you offer a prize?"

"And you are?" Riser was scanning him as if the devil had only just noticed his presence.

He grinned confidently. "I am the one who composed the method with which Issei here defeated you so soundly. If you'd like; I could do it again."

From the corner of his eye he could see Sona turn sharply to face him, an action shared by Rias and her peerage.

"You…" Riser seemed incredulous. "And I suppose I'm to just take that at face value? What a terrible excuse for a joke."

"It's the truth!" said Issei hotly. "Lelouch is a hundred times smarter than you!"

"And what hold over you does the boy possess, that you would say such a thing?" Riser continued before Issei could respond. "Wait, no, let me guess, he's your _friend._ Save it for someone who cares. My only interest is in you. _"_

He folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, mocking Riser's position. "I had not thought a Phenex would be content to scamper away, tail between his legs, but it appears I was mistaken."

The pyrokinetic pushed himself off the wall angrily, prompting Kiba to step beside Issei, further obstructing the man. "And what would a human know of the Phenex?"

Truthfully? Only the little he'd gathered from the party earlier; though that was already enough to pique his interest. But of the devil in front of him, he knew a great deal, simply from the man's words and actions.

Which made this entirely too easy.

"That apparently they pick and choose opponents in an effort to seem fearsome, when in reality they are naught but lukewarm, timid, _cowards._ "

A blistering sphere of flame came flying at him, sent over the heads of Kiba and Issei by virtue of Riser's superior height. He made no movement, and was rewarded with the _hiss_ of steam as the attack was halted by a barrier of water.

"That will be quite enough," commanded Sona Sitri. "From both of you. As there was obviously provocation, I will overlook what just occurred. But if you make any other attempt to harm a student under my purview, my hand will be forced, Phenex, and I will take no small amount of pleasure in meting out discipline."

There was more than simple dislike there. Perhaps the animosity between the two devils went further than just individual differences? The fire and water magic would lend credence to that. He studied the resulting wisps of steam, wondering if he would be able to replicate a similar effect, given time.

Riser sneered. "If the human wants a fight, he's free to one, for all I care. Not that I'd expect him to ever hold to his words."

The devil stepped back, and refocused his attention to Issei. The pawn was glaring daggers at the man, and he wasn't alone in the sentiment. Kiba was visibly tensing, and Akeno's teacup lay untouched as she remained completely still.

"Send your response through your master, Hyoudou Issei. I'll be waiting." Flames licked at Riser's body, concealing the devil from sight. A few short seconds, and both were gone entirely.

"Lelouch, are you okay?!" Asia had rushed to his side, unsure of what to do with her flapping hands as she fretted over him. "Did you get hurt anywhere?"

"I'm fine," he assured her. "There is no need to worry about me."

"Yes," said Sona dryly. "Or it'll take you to an early grave. Do you find some sort of perverse pleasure in antagonising high-ranking devils, Lelouch, or do you simply think it's funny? I hope you notice; nobody is laughing."

"Agreed," exhaled Kiba. "I thought you wanted to keep a low profile?"

"His pride will prevent him from speaking of this to anybody," he explained. "As much as it may seem, I assure you, I am far from suicidal."

"That doesn't explain why you did it in the first place," said Rias, rubbing her forehead. "What would you have done if Sona hadn't reacted fast enough?"

"Indeed," said Sona. "Though I'm pleased you have some semblance of faith in my ability; that seemed exceedingly unnecessary. What could you have possibly hoped to gain?"

"If I had been harmed, something I considered highly unlikely, I would have trusted Miss Argento to make good use of her Sacred Gear."

The young girl looked less than accepting of his words, but beamed at him when he finished. "Of course! Anyone who needs healing, I'll be there!"

But not every waking hour of the day.

"Failing that," he said, smiling at her, "I caught word of a rather interesting substance earlier. Tears of the Phoenix, I believe they were called?"

Sona and Rias fell silent.

"A liquid with restorative properties so potent; even severed limbs are a minor issue. One wonders what they could achieve with such a wondrous ability."

"It is unable to replace blood or organs." Sona sighed. She removed her glasses to pinch at the bridge of her nose. "But that is a rather minor setback, for what they are fully capable of. Fool me once…"

Hmm. That made them slightly less useful, but they were desirable all the same.

"We don't have any though." Issei frowned. "I thought they were super expen-"

Understanding lit up in the boy's eyes. "You want them as a prize!"

"Yes." He grinned. "Though hopefully, it won't be me that does the fighting. Will you help, Issei?"

"Hell yeah I will!" The boy smiled back. "I would've said yes even if I didn't owe you."

" _Ahem,_ " Rias cleared her throat. "I'm not sure if I appreciate you trying to steal my dear pawn from me, Lelouch."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he dismissed nonchalantly. "Regardless, it is far into the future."

Sona looked between him and Issei, unconvinced. "And is Hyoudou to simply hand over his prospective winnings, only due to the reason that you are his friend?"

"Yes!" declared Issei.

"No," he said.

"No?" echoed Issei.

He smiled at the boy. "You have the potential to win against him alone, without external tools or help. Especially given the amount of time available for preparation. But when you gain peerage, you will not be alone. That is where I come in; to advise you on the workings of group combat. And at the end, when it is won, if you feel my contribution lacking, you may even withhold the Tears for yourself."

"He would never do that," Rias said quietly.

"Yes," he confirmed. "He wouldn't."

The heiress placed both hands flat upon her knees, tone sincere and professional. "Do you think you are truly capable of winning?"

"He is," he stated firmly.

"That was not what I was asking. Lelouch, I consider you a friend, despite our past… difficulties. However, my last loss still weighs heavily on my mind, and while Issei has proved himself to be far more than I could ask for; Riser Phenex, for all his conceit, is undeniably stronger. And he has a year or more of his own to prepare. I shouldn't even have to say that holy objects won't be a possibility. Even when Issei becomes a King in his own right, he will still be a member of my peerage. No matter how far into the future, I don't wish to see him needlessly hurt again."

Idealistic, yet pragmatic. Ambitious, but far too caring. That, it appeared, was Rias Gremory. They looked at one another, matching gazes; violet to blue. It evoked memory of a similar exchange, but this held for longer.

"I do." he stated firmly.

She closed her eyes and nodded. "Then I trust you."

He paused. "…Thank you."

"Yeah!" whooped Issei. "Grilled chicken is going _down!"_

"How suitably heart-warming," came the clipped tone of Sona Sitri. "But if you don't mind; I would have you explain why you so dearly want Phoenix Tears, of all things."

"Perfectly reasonable," he said. "But nonetheless, private."

"And the reason you didn't simply ask one of us to purchase a vial for you by proxy?"

He blinked. "I was not aware that was an option."

"You didn't know that before you goaded him so strongly?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm certain we'll win anyway." He shrugged. "What do they cost?"

She told him.

"So this would be the best method regardless." He'd destabilise Japan's economy if he attempted to acquire that much. What could the Phenex possibly hope to use that amount of money for?

"I thought you were egotistic." She shook her head. "I was mistaken. Now, I _know_ you are egotistic."

"He is, isn't he?" agreed Rias, amused. "Oh, and Lelouch, in regards to the magic lesson, we'll have to do it another day. It's far too late, and I should take Issei and Asia back home. Sona, would you like to try your hand at teaching? I know it's your future vocation of choice, after all."

"Lelouch wishes to study magic?"

"Yes, he asked me earlier. What do you think?"

Sona adjusted her glasses. "An entirely logical and reasonable request, so much so that I hesitate to believe it came from him. Very well. I do have some early curriculum drafts worked out which I have been wanting to test for quite some time now."

When she provoked him like that, how could he not respond?

"Thank you," he spoke. "You're too kind, already agreeing to help me after expending so much effort for Rias' sake. It is unfortunate you could not attend."

"I have no idea what you're referring to," sniffed Sona. "I had not attended the engagement party because I have certain standards. A ceremony based on such a farcical agreement did not sit well with me."

Ah, so he'd been right.

"He didn't say anything about the party." Rias was smirking at the revelation, though in good humour.

"It was easy to deduce from context."

"If you say so, Sona."

"You know, it is rather late," Sona evaded. "As tomorrow is a school day, I should be going, along with the rest of you."

Akeno chuckled behind a delicate hand. "Good night, Miss President."

"Good night." Sona nodded stiffly. "One thing before I go, however… does anybody smell smoke?"

Smoke? Yes, he could, now that he tried. Surely Riser couldn't be the cause? He hadn't considered the devil one for petty revenge.

"Ah." Kiba seemed to come to a realisation. "That would be the cake."

Toujou whimpered, but that could also have been his imagination.

* * *

Later, as he was tidying up after their departure, his phone rang.

He would have thought it strange, had the classical ringtone not indicated that it was coming from his business cell, rather than the one he owned for personal use. Placing his chores aside, he flipped it open and brought it to his ear.

"Speak."

" _One man. Blonde, mid-thirties, with a crew cut. Said he was in town looking for someone. Said he knew about the gun you provided – still haven't found the maker, by the way – and that he'd like to meet you."_

"Did he give a time and location, or should I?"

" _Won't matter. Up and disappeared as of today. Left everything behind, and we lost all contact. Either he's very good, or whoever took him is."_

Intriguing. "His personal effects?"

" _Noted them all down before the police got to them. Not that they'll realise any time soon; as far as we can tell, the guy acted alone. Three items of importance. Identification; Jonathan Andrew Baker, Irish citizen and travelling missionary. Passport supports this, it shows seven instances of international flight in the last six months alone. Second was a sword hilt. Just the hilt. European sabre at a guess, with cross-guard. No blade, though strangely there's an opening for one to be placed."_

A custom light weapon, most likely. A similar example remained in his possession, taken from the corpse of Freed Sellzen. The frequent flying indicated a rostered exorcist of the church, to be sent to areas according to need. The only question; why Kuoh?

"The third?"

" _This is the important part, I imagine. He had a book; a journal if you will. Reminders, addresses, phone numbers, typical. Family, friends, associates et cetera et cetera. Only one number was unlabelled, with an Italian country code. It was…"_

He repeated the string of digits mentally, committing them to memory.

"Forget it."

" _Obviously."_

"Anything else?"

" _Just that one of ours wasn't related to the disappearance. Anyone else's, either, and as far as we can tell, not some random crazy."_

"Very well. Maintain surveillance."

" _Noted. I'll be in contact."_

The call ended, and he slipped the phone into his pocket.

"Who was that, this late?" Kiba entered the kitchen, carrying a stack of plates and cups. The blonde had volunteered to stay back and help clean up, insisting everybody else return home to rest. "On second thought, no, I don't want to know. Where do you want these?"

He indicated the dishwasher, and the boy obliged him.

"I thought you had an agreement with the President?" continued Kiba, placing the load down and transferring it one by one into the machine.

"It was nothing illegal." He shrugged, choosing to help instead of elaborating further.

Tableware _clinked_ as they worked, permeating the silence. When they were almost done, Kiba spoke again.

"…Whatever it was, is it related to the reason you need the Phoenix Tears?"

"Of that, I am unsure."

"So you acknowledge it as a possibility." Kiba sighed. "I suppose it's too optimistic to think it won't be dangerous, knowing you."

"Perhaps." This entire world was unfamiliar territory. He could speculate as to where things might lead, but it was always best to be prepared.

They finished up, and he walked the Knight back to the doorway.

"You know," began Kiba, putting on his shoes, "when I first met you, I suspected there was something you were hiding?"

He leaned his shoulder to the wall and crossed him arms, tired from the day's happenings. "Everybody has similar secrets."

"Yes," Kiba agreed. "And I thought yours was the whole gambling deal."

He elected to remain silent, watching as the blonde finished and moved to open the door.

"I don't think that anymore."

Moonlight illuminated the threshold, spilling into the interior of his residence. The air was noticeably damp, indicating approaching rain.

"Whatever you're looking for though, you'll have my help, if you need it. Even if it's a year from now, or more. I rather enjoy our lunches together, you know." Kiba smiled, polite and easy-going as always, and he was reminded of another friend from another time.

"Then I would offer you the same, Yuuto Kiba."

Had he meant it? Again, as of yet, he was unsure. Trust was difficult to place, irrespective of Rias' view on the matter.

"I'll keep that in mind, Lelouch Lamperouge. Good night."

Amongst the shadows that played across Kiba's face as the blonde turned to leave, he was quite certain that some were due to drifting clouds that obscured the moon. But as for the rest, he could only begin to guess at the cause.

* * *

"I simply cannot understand why this spell refuses to activate."

He hummed his agreement. It was certainly no fault of his tutor. Sona had proved to be excellent in every which way, and when placed in combination with his own mental faculties, he'd been able to grasp the foundations of human magic within half an hour. He'd been surprised when she began by opening a textbook detailing advanced calculus and geometry, but the reasons why had quickly become clear as she guided him in composing arcane equations.

However, that had been two hours ago.

"Perhaps I simply have no magical talent?" he speculated.

She frowned. "That is one possibility left, yes. But this is the most basic of magic circles. It requires very little power, if any at all. I've looked over your calculations several times already; the fault lies not there. Thus, it can only be that you are unsuited for this in some way."

"Unfortunate, but I'll acknowledge your expertise in this matter. What would you suggest I do?"

She brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. "I have never heard of somebody unable to make use of both Western and Eastern branches of human magic. Usually, a person shows aptitude for one or the other, or at least capability. Then again, I have never attempted to teach a human."

He waited as she tapped her finger against her arm.

"We'll adjourn for today, then, as I attempt to discover a system more suitable for you. It may be that the problem lies between the connection between you and the external channelling device. If magic circles and spiritual talismans remain inert, it could mean that you have a problem with sending magical power outwards. In which case, I may have several suggestions. I believe there exists a Chinese art that incorporates only inner energy; though I will have to look into it further."

A glance out of the window of the Student Council room showed a setting sun, dappling the Academy in inconsistent dancing daylight. A breathtaking effect that Sona seemed to ignore, caught up in her musings as she was.

"Summoning magic, maybe?" she puzzled. "Though that requires a greater degree of energy contribution from the user, to maintain the familiar's obedience."

"Is there a method of determining one's magical reserves?" He leaned back into his seat. "If we had an estimate of mine, this quandary may be easier to solve."

"No." She began to organise strewn papers and stationery. "At least not at the lower levels. There are certain methods used to determine potential for certain systems, but the arcane is too variable to be quantified by a single generic measurement. Certain beings exude a recognisable magical aura, but that is limited to the extremely powerful and extremely unique."

So it would be difficult to discern his magical ability. A shame.

"In that case," he rose from his seat, "there is naught to do but be patient."

"I'll have something else by tomorrow," she promised. "It would not do to give up so soon."

"Then I must strive to be an excellent student, if I am to be worthy of you. If you don't mind, I would borrow those grimoires. Remaining knowledgeable is the least I can do, even if I cannot make use of their contents."

She nodded, redistributing the materials so he could take them from her. "Your work ethic is praiseworthy, Lelouch. I must admit, it leaves something to be desired when it comes to some of my peerage members."

"I believe I may know who you're referring to."

She smiled fondly. "His heart is in the right place, but his head often wanders. It is my hope that one day I can help him grow into his fullest potential."

"Would this relate to your goal of becoming a teacher?" He took several of the substantially heavy books from her arms, placing them in his bag. "It does suit you quite well."

"Partially, yes, but I have something far grander in mind than a simple teacher. This lesson is just the beginning of a long road I must walk."

"Then I wish you the best of luck, for everything." He nodded, turning to leave. "Good evening, Sona."

"Until tomorrow, Lelouch."

He left her, alone in the room, and made his way home accompanied only by the coming of nightfall. The journey was short, as always, but still succeeded in quickening his breath, no doubt due to the tomes that weighed him down so heavily. Entering his abode and ordering them neatly upon a shelf, he selected one and flipped it open, placing it on his desk.

 _Principles of Magic for the Uninitiated_

He drew the curtains of his residence closed, plunging himself into utter darkness. Walking carefully back to the book, he neglected to flip any light switches, knowing they would be unnecessary.

He focused - a single second - and a pale-white wisp of not-quite flame played across his palm, illuminating the room.

Smiling, he sat down and began to read.


	6. Chapter 6

"Coffee, if you please. Black, one sugar."

Lelouch acknowledged the words with a perfunctory nod of his head. A quick series of steps took him into his kitchen, and he began preparing the beverage of request. As he waited for the water to heat, he called out to his guest in the other room.

"I'm afraid this is the limit of what I can offer. I had been planning to use today to restock on refreshments after my last guests."

"It is more than enough," called back Ajuka. "The fault lies with me for providing such short notice."

While he'd vaguely expected the visit, he'd imagined it would come with prior warning. He'd considered setting some form of magical alert system, but doubted he had the skill required to have it avoid the perception of an expert.

"Busy schedule?" he asked.

He couldn't see his conversational partner, but there was an undeniable wry smile in the response. "That isn't the half of it. Falbium, as usual, refuses to attend to anything not of dire emergency, and Serafall has all but disappeared again. The work gets shifted to their secretaries, but they still require the examination and approval of a Satan. Some days I wonder if that damned civil war was worth all this."

The irresponsibility from ones of such high station would have surprised him, if he hadn't already encountered a living example. He had a sudden twinge of sympathy for the aforementioned assistants.

"Is this a regular occurrence?"

"Falbium hasn't changed for centuries. Serafall? Only whenever something catches her eye I suppose, though that happens much too often for my liking. Are you aware that when she first met you, she'd teleported out of the middle of a meeting with delegates from the various Magician Circles?"

"Isn't that rather unwise for diplomatic relations?" The water had been brought to a boil, and he readied a mug. "I can't imagine they took that well."

"It is the lesser of two evils," joked the man. "She plays the Foreign Affairs role because the rest of us are unwilling. Despite which, it rather suits her."

He stirred the beverage. "Inherently commanding of respect, yet unthreatening."

"Quite aptly put. It takes more than a bright outfit and personality to allay centuries of mistrust, but she does her best."

Ajuka paused. "Well, most of the time."

He carried the drink back and placed it on his coffee table, taking care to not disturb the chess board that occupied the centre. The devil inclined his head in gratitude, and reached to begin their game.

He moved his own pawn forward to mirror Ajuka's opening. "How long do you plan to stay?"

"Until your patience with my presence wears thin, presumably. The daily drudgery can hold until tomorrow."

He examined the board before him, planning his next few moves. Already he could feel the difference to the last match they'd played.

"Your associates won't be seeking you?" he asked.

The devil sipped his coffee. "They are of the misapprehension that I am currently studying the Hyoudou boy's arm. In all fairness, I was. My hard work deserves a moment of respite, no?"

Mention of the limb piqued his curiosity. His own studies into the arcane had been notably lacking when it came to knowledge of the draconian, and any texts he'd found mentioning dragons tended to be some variant of ' _Run away'_.

"If I may invite a researcher to discuss his results?"

Ajuka smiled. "If you think you can keep up."

The words held twofold meaning, and he glanced back down at the game. As of yet, there had been a distinct deficiency of openings into the devil's defence.

He shrugged easily. "Humour me."

"My initial hypothesis, when considering the domineering nature of the dragon species, had been that the arm was parasitic. Cases where sealed magical beings consume their hosts are not rare; though among Sacred Gears, it can often be unintentional."

"It was an equal bargain, at the time. I believe the boy still has an understanding with his companion."

"You speak as if he weren't only slightly younger than you," said the devil, raising an eyebrow. "But yes, he told me much the same. In addition, Hyoudou has an unnaturally swift growth rate, even compared to what little data I have of antecedent Boosted Gear wielders. That, compiled with his seeming synergy with the Great Welsh, causes equal development of both rather than one feeding off the other."

He set out a bishop, to act as bait. Whether it was taken or not, it would give impetus to his next move. "A cycle of positive feedback. How long before measures must be taken to ensure the safety of his body?"

Ajuka tilted his head. "Exactly my thoughts. But it so happens the answer to that is void. Regular intervention suffices to keep the power in check."

"Is there no permanent solution?"

"Actually," chuckled Ajuka, lightly, "I think the boy rather enjoys the extraction ritual. As much as I would like to question Miss Gremory's choice of method, it nonetheless remains effective."

He made a mental note to tread carefully around the subject with the devils. Around a certain one in particular.

The board remained even throughout their exchange, almost unerringly so. Left to develop, it would result in a stalemate. Ajuka drained the coffee, setting the empty mug aside afterwards. It came to rest towering over an ever-growing graveyard of chess pieces, courtesy of the efforts of both black and white. Surveying the board, the devil spoke again.

"A tie, then, in two or three moves. Shall we reset?"

He raised his palm, halting the movement of his opponent's hands as they made to reposition the pieces. "No. Allow me see what I can do."

An arched eyebrow, but no further objection. A second joined the first when he moved his king forward.

"An unorthodox move."

He smiled, awaiting the reply that wasn't verbal.

Naturally, the obsidian monarch immediately came under threat. The next few turns were spent alternating between escape and attack as he evaded check, luring more and more white pieces away and allowing black to do its work.

"Checkmate."

He leaned back and closed his eyes, tapping an index finger against his leg. It had been a lengthy while since he'd lost. Strangely though, the sting of this defeat felt unexpectedly dulled.

Ajuka studied the result of their match - a few short seconds - then moved to rearrange. "That was an unusual decision. Why did you not accept the tie?"

Again came the memories of Schneizel and his Father; of himself, even, not too long ago. He opened his eyes and flexed his fingers, moving them forward to assist the devil in setting the board.

"I despise boring games."

Ajuka didn't look up, instead releasing a considering hum. The soldiers were readied, and the battle began anew.

"So," he said, returning to their previous topic, "your final results?"

"As is always the case with research, nothing exciting. Information on a Longinus is always appreciated, however, no matter how inconsequential."

Now there was something he'd come across in his readings all too easily. Thirteen unique Sacred Gears, elevated into a class of their own by value of their ability; each holding the potential to overthrow the very gods.

He spared a moment of pity for their wielders.

Ajuka picked up the coffee mug and attempted to drink, only to be met with air. Looking down into it and frowning, the devil snapped the fingers of his other hand, and dark, steaming liquid filled it once more.

Their second match played out in comfortable silence, easing both players into a routine sequence of light _taps_. It went much the way of the first, and he broke the impasse much the same way; by advancing his king. This time, the move was effortlessly weaved into his grand strategy, rather than hastily tacked on, and it showed as the imbalance between black and white grew further to his favour.

He won.

In was in the midst of their third game that Ajuka spoke, dispelling the tentative peace.

"You know, while I was at the Academy earlier, I also happened across Miss Sitri. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, we found ourselves on a rather curious topic of discussion."

The game went temporarily abandoned as his opponent leaned back, taking a long draught of coffee. Upon its completion, he was affixed with an undecipherable azure gaze.

"You."

"Me."

"While I say discussion, it mostly consisted of her regaling me with the accounts of your numerous exploits. She made you out to be quite the maverick. I hesitate to claim she was venting, but find myself at a lack for a more suitable word."

Several incidents came to mind. The chess match, the gambling, the church. Constant refusals to her offers of peerage. His little altercation with Riser. Her increasingly failing attempts to instruct him in the ways of magic. He vaguely wondered if Ajuka had come here to reprimand him, but banished the notion as frivolous.

"Tell me," continued the devil, "how much experience do you have with paperwork?"

He blinked, and all thoughts of the board in front of him went forgotten. "Pardon?"

"Paperwork," repeated Ajuka. "Partially in digital form, but otherwise mostly physical."

His days as Vice President of the Ashford Student Council answered for him. "…I am no stranger to it. Depending on the content, I can complete it reasonably fast."

"Excellent." The devil nodded. "That already makes you more useful than half the people currently under my employ."

He searched the smiling face for any sign of dishonesty. "You cannot be serious."

"Oh, it's true. Government occupations have the unfortunate trait of inspiring lethargy in people, be they devil or human."

"That was not what I was referring to."

"Why not?" Ajuka waved a hand dismissively. "It's not as if I never hire humans. Do you know how difficult it is to find a devil that knows how to code? I'll tell you; there's only me. Software engineers – and this may be hard to believe – are often _not_ the first choice of devils for their peerages. Miss Sitri also informed me of how you are currently in need of, and I quote, 'Honest work'. I suspect she may secretly feel guilty about forbidding your main source of income."

He had a brief instant to wonder what possible use coding would be to a race that commanded magic, before pointing out the obvious objection. "Coding is not something I would consider within my skillset."

"No, but at least you don't seem too averse to the idea of learning. Have you ever tried to explain to millennia old devils that there are languages outside the scope of our racial ability to speak? 'But what good is a language if it cannot be spoken?' they ask. Ridiculous."

He pictured himself at a receptionist's desk, sorting through underworld building permits and navigating the tangled web of bureaucracy.

"I haven't the slightest inclination of accepting your offer."

"Well, it was worth the attempt," conceded Ajuka. "A shame nevertheless. Less time for my hobbies, I suppose."

"Perhaps you could request assistance from your peerage?" If it even existed. He'd caught snippets of gossip pertaining to Lucifer's, at the engagement party, but distinctly no word of Beelzebub's.

The devil, after a considering look, produced a small object from the folds of his clothing and placed it upon the exact centre-point of their game board. The white pawn was non-uniform among its surrounding compatriots, standing slightly taller above them. He picked it up, feeling out its contours with his fingers, and it pulsed – once – a deep, entrancing green.

"What do you imagine a Satan's peerage is comprised of?"

"I have heard tell that for Rias' brother, it is limited to close relationships. As for the others, I can only speculate. Personal interests, beings with ability, and deals for political gain, I expect."

Ajuka smiled. "Mostly correct. You heard right about Sirzechs. His Queen is his wife, and his retainers are close confidants. Falbium is only one of us who dabbles within the political sphere when it comes to his peerage members, however. It is quite hilarious, watching conniving nobles plot their way into such an esteemed role, only to find out they've achieved naught but the position of a glorified personal workhorse."

"And yourself?"

 _Snap_.

Thirteen bleached-white pieces appeared on the table, ordered into a set of two lines that stood in an imitation of a chess game's beginning. Taking into account the Pawn in his hand, he ascertained the missing two as the King and a Rook.

"One. Falak of the Dead. A serpent prophesied to swallow all of creation."

It was his own eyebrow that arched this time. "A formidable title."

The devil nodded, and continued. "Similarly; Behemoth, King of the Earth, Kujata the Holy Bull, and Bahamut of the Deep Sea. One Sacred Beast each, among the four of us."

"A gift?"

"A duty. Stripped of their ancestral homes by the three-faction war, their rampages claimed countless lives before they were brought to heel. As partial reparation, our race agreed to the task of their imprisonment. Though with the creation of the Evil Pieces, they have since been successfully tamed. I believe Sera takes Behemoth on walks every other week. A nice little scare for newcomers to the underworld."

"So you have no peerage of your own choosing," he noted.

Ajuka shrugged. "It is unneeded."

"Because your position bars you from entering Rating Games?"

"Technically, we are free to enter as we please, but for various reasons, our participation is limited to the occasional show-match. Serafall or Sirzechs take care of those usually."

"Then you take no interest in your own creation?" It was somewhat disconcerting, if that was the case. He attributed the feeling to his experience with Lloyd Asplund's fanaticism; the Knightmare Frame developer had treated the machines with a greater deal of care than he'd ever seen extended to a fellow person.

"Quite the opposite. It's just – well, what was it you said earlier?" Ajuka smiled, a degree cooler than the devil's previous flippancy, and the difference made its way into his tone.

"I despise boring games."

And he reminded himself that this man too had led a rebellion, and here in this world, that meant both might and dominance.

"Now," said Ajuka, indicating their unfinished game. "Shall we continue?"

* * *

Gnarled, pudgy hands swept across the desk in a fit of rage, sending stacks of paper fluttering to the ground. Wrong, wrong, _wrong_. Everything was _wrong!_ It hadn't meant to be like this, not at all!

Valper Galilei muttered a curse under his breath, and began to pace the dingy, cramped space surrounding him. It was another sign of how far he'd fallen; come to hide in an abandoned, beggarly excuse of a building in this godforsaken, backwater country. But that, if it was to be the extent of it, he could tolerate. Genius sprouted from hardship after all. What he could notstand, however, were the thoughts of the uneducated, dithering _philistines_ that had driven him here.

The Church, and their pet dog Exorcists. Feh. Brainless thugs were what they were, only capable of taking orders from men of his own calibre. What use were they, without the weapons he provided them? And yet they'd turned on him anyway all those years ago, declaring blasphemy and immorality for simply having the valour to stand by his beliefs; persecuting him as if he were his namesake of old.

He'd thought, recently, that he had been gifted the opportunity to exact vengeance, but he should have known better. Two. _Two._ What was he meant to achieve with two, when all his preparations had been for three? Preposterous. Unbelievable! It was akin to giving Da Vinci himself a palette containing only white. No, he hadn't even the palette! His painstaking calibrations; all of them had assumed Freed as the wielder. Where sanity had been taken from the boy, skill had been endowed in its stead, and it made for a perfect test-subject.

But that skill could not currently be _found_!

And now he had to make do with the scrapings from the bottom of the barrel. A ragged group of miscreants and strays, the vulgar tones of whom he could even now hear through the patchwork door. How those ruffians had ever been men of the cloth, he had no idea.

He found himself, at the end of his pacing, standing over a pair of objects in the corner of his room. Leaning against the wall, the embroidered scabbards exuded a magnificence that was only exacerbated by their grimy environment. Gilded inlay and aged leather mixed in a beautiful example of a master's craft, telling a history of glory in battle.

But that was nothing compared to what they held within.

Grasping the unadorned hilt, he pulled the left blade free, and was struck by the same absence of breath as when he'd first laid eyes upon it. But already he could feel Excalibur Rapidly rejecting his hold, the very steel thrumming in an effort to be rid of him. Another minute, and his arm would become unbearably numb.

He savoured each second.

When the sword had been replaced, reverentially, back into its sheath, he knew his next course of action.

He would find Kokabiel.

He would do it. And he would tell the Fallen that he deserved a second chance. That he would not disgrace himself again. No, it hadn't even been his fault, the first time! It wasn't due to him the infiltration had come up short, just as it wasn't his doing that Kokabiel's hand in all this had almost been revealed to the Church. The plan could still be salvaged. All he had to do was make contact.

Except he had no means of doing so.

…

Didn't he?

Hurried hands rushed to gather strewn papers, and he prepared himself for a night of work. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way of drawing the Fallen's attention, of sending a message.

After all, while he no longer possessed the resources to contest this town's overseers, devils were hardly the only adversaries he could pick from.

* * *

If he was directing a contingent of shadowy foreigners recently arrived in Kuoh, he would possibly consider it ill-advised to occupy a popular hangout spot for the local teenagers. Displaced from their usual loitering-place, loud mouths would reach all kinds of ears. For example, an exorcist under the guise of a missionary - who could all too easily hear of such things from consulting the troubled youths. For another, a curious party who was actively looking into said exorcist's disappearance.

Such were Lelouch's thoughts as he idly flipped through the pages of a paperback novel. He was seated in a café, alone by the glass-front of the store as cheery synthesised music played lightly over the speakers. He made a pretence of reading, but found the book – a work of dystopian fiction – did not capture his interest. What did, however, was the derelict apartment block across the road.

Whatever he could make of it through the rain, anyway. The town had been experiencing a spate of summer storms as of late, and myriad colours paraded past him from his vantage point courtesy of a sea of umbrellas.

Perhaps he should give the fugitives a smattering of credit. Kuoh was a fine choice of location, under the noses of two prominent devil heiresses. It made for a den of proxy conflicts and espionage rather than a battlefield, and this densely populated area, at least, would provide some slight cover from prying eyes. Then again, it also made it rather easy for a lone individual to slip up against overlooked buildings unnoticed.

Much as he'd done earlier.

" _Still no word?"_

" _None. Wherever the Sellzen kid ran off to, he left no tracks."_

" _A twenty says he's dead in a ditch somewhere. Guys like him; they all end up the same way."_

" _That twenty is mine anyway. Pair Kings."_

" _Ah, fuck. You're a lucky bastard, you know that?"_

It was such an incredibly useful instrument, magic, allowing for the most miniscule of details. He'd counted at least a dozen differing voices over the past hour alone.

"Lelouch?"

He turned in his seat, and came face-to-face with a bedraggled Yuuto Kiba. The Kuoh uniform hung limply against the boy's frame, damp from the outside weather.

"This is a surprise," he noted.

" _Fold. What kind of- "_

He casually brushed a hand against his ear, disguising the movement by gesturing toward the empty seat next to him.

"Care to join me?"

He observed as Kiba obliged with a gracious nod. The boy had not been himself these past few days, and he'd often caught the blonde's eyes drifting during their lunchtime conversation. If the current strained smile was anything to go by, it would seem that whatever troubles that plagued the Knight had come to a head.

A young waitress came by with the offer of a warm drink, but Kiba dismissed her with a casual wave, sweeping back several strands of wet hair.

"No, thank you. I find myself needing the chance to cool off right now."

She stammered a response and all but bolted back behind the counter, blushing heavily.

"Do you do that on purpose?" he asked.

The blonde tilted his head quizzically. "Do what?"

"Never mind."

If he remembered correctly, the Occult Research Club was to participate in the school ball tournament today. He'd been extended the invitation to spectate, but he'd refused, and not only because of the way Akeno had framed the question. "What brings you here?"

"I could ask you the same. I hadn't expected to run into you when seeking shelter from the rain."

He looked pointedly at the boy's soaked form. Clearly, Kiba had been outside for more than just a few minutes of seeking shelter, but it would rude to say as such. "I came here on a whim, really. How was the match?"

The Knight exhaled, coating a small section of the glass in front of them with mist. "It seems my performance today was sub-par. Rias gave me a rather comprehensive dressing down because of it."

There was more that was not being disclosed, if the blonde was referring to his master by name, rather than title. "Something is on your mind."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Even if it weren't, I pride myself on a pair of rather keen eyes."

"Among many other things." Kiba gave a dry chuckle. "Well if even Issei could see it, I suppose it would be too much to ask for you not to notice."

"It must be rather serious, to break your composure so."

"Nothing you haven't managed to achieve," quipped the blonde. "But I guess that's an accurate enough assessment. Regardless, it's something I must take care of on my own."

He smiled dryly. "And yet I get the premonition there are certain individuals who will refuse to concede to you on that point."

Almost as if on cue, a streak of black dashed past the window, topped with a wild mop of brown hair. They both watched as Issei Hyoudou continued past them, head swivelling every which way in search. To no avail, however, as despite looking directly at them twice, the boy failed to recognise them and soon ran out of sight.

A few seconds later, the glare of a bright pink umbrella walked into view, pausing as its holder looked into the café. He raised a single finger to his lips and received a slight nod in reply. Then Koneko Toujou, too, left.

"What troublesome companions," sighed Kiba, "…I suppose I'll have to make it up to them later."

He hummed his agreement, and their exchange descended into silence. The Knight seemed content with the arrangement, so he returned his thoughts to other matters, flipping to a random page. There were several reasons for a group of Stray Exorcists to seek refuge, and most of them were promising. Humans were much easier to handle than the alternative, especially considering some of the tools he had at his disposal.

A short time passed, and he reached the end of the novel. The words registered in his mind, but remained devoid of meaning as he moved them aside for other considerations.

"What would you do, Lelouch, if you had everything stripped away, left with only your life? Hypothetically, of course."

The enquiry broke him from his reverie, and he looked up into the grim visage of Yuuto Kiba, seeming more exhausted than he'd ever seen him.

His reply came easily.

"I would find the one responsible and return the favour a thousandfold."

"You can be rather frightening sometimes, you know that?"

"I can't imagine why."

The blonde closed his eyes and smiled. "Right. My mistake."

"And what prompted you to ask such a question?" he asked.

"Spontaneity. Curiosity. I'm not quite certain myself. Perhaps it is simply this weather, making me feel sentimental."

"I had not held you for the sentimental type," he said.

"Oh, I have my moments. Doesn't everybody? But I suppose it's time I left anyhow. Wouldn't want Issei catching a cold."

"I suspect," he said, "that if he has Rias and Asia to take care of him, he really wouldn't mind."

Kiba let free a bright peal of laughter. "That he wouldn't. All the same though, one should take care of their juniors. Any longer, and I won't be able to find him. See you, Lelouch."

The blonde rose from his seat, but a quick remark brought the movement to a halt.

"Kiba."

"Yes?"

He deliberately focused his eyes on the boy, and his next words held an undercurrent of neutral calm.

"If I were after retribution, it would be meticulous and unyielding. Those who claim falsehood upon the phrase 'An eye for an eye' are either inexperienced in the ways of the world, or naively idealistic. While such idealism may be admired, the spouting of such empty words does nothing to soothe one who has had his very existence denied; beyond even the domain of despair."

No response, as Kiba waited for him to continue.

"…However," His hands found a nearby napkin, and he toyed with its folds as he structured the remnants of his address. "Above all, I would ensure that in the undertaking of such an endeavour, I would not suffer the loss of a single thing more."

The blonde remained quiet, and he provided a means of egress.

"Hypothetically, of course. I'll see you at lunch tomorrow, Kiba."

A _chime_ of the tiny bell above the entrance preceded the Knight's exit, leaving him alone once again. He decided he would make his own leave soon; it was apparent from his deficit of results that observation would be vain when it came to this issue. At least for today, he would have to make do with only what his listening spell provided.

Brushing another hand against the side of his head as he stood, the abrasive sounds of conversation played in his ear a second time.

"- _ther one yesterday. Pretty skilled, too, but not enough."_

" _That's what, the third? You'd think they'd start sending more than just one at a time."_

He retrieved his umbrella from the rack by the door, and stepped outside to find that he had no need for it. The weather had begun to take a turn for the better, and a grey sky was slowly turning a pale, muted blue. From behind him, in the café, he heard the young waitress from earlier release a bubbly giggle.

Perhaps she thought Kiba had folded the origami crane and meant it for her.

" _That's the funny thing; they can't. Too scared of the devil who owns things around here. They don't want to show weakness, either. What'd you think big man Satan would say, if he found out that the Church had two Excaliburs stolen from right under their noses?"_

Had he heard that right? Two of King Arthur's legendary blade, with the indication of more? Focused as he was on the exchange, he briefly failed to notice his surroundings, and his shoulder collided with an oncoming pedestrian.

He uttered a brief apology, but the only reply came in the form of a non-committal grunt. The provider - a young man – sharply walked away, giving him the rear view of a silver-haired head.

" _Might as well be hunks of metal for all the good they're doing us. Seems to me like we've been doing a whole lot of nothing recently."_

" _Old coot says orders will come soon enough. We just have to sit back and wait."_

With this new influx of information his path was clear. Stray Exorcists and fugitives were not the only ones who could make use of this town's intrinsic protection.

" _He's been telling us that since we got here. All I'm saying is that I signed up so I could off a few devils, and so far, we haven't seen a single one."_

" _Amen to that."_

Angels, Fallen, Devils. How contrived, that one must limit themselves to only a single choice. Heading back towards his residence, he began to assemble a game board in his mind.

It meant that he would have no opponent, but he was no stranger to playing both sides.

* * *

[Patience, young one. He will not escape again.]

"You said that about New York," Vali Lucifer muttered, hands shoved in pockets. "Dublin, too."

[It was not I that brashly ran in head-first, giving our prey ample time to escape.]

"Azazel said he'd stand and fight if challenged."

[Your mentor's advice is coloured by his shared past. Our quarry has a goal, and it is evidently worth more than a clash with us.]

It was stupid, is what it was. This prolonged hunt did not suit him. Contention between the strong belonged on the battlefield, where it pumped adrenaline and boiled blood. Not here, striding down a mundane street in search of clues.

The only reason he'd agreed to Azazel's request was for the chance it presented. How powerful would a head of the Grigori be, compared to himself? What new peaks could he reach? Or would he be disappointed, left to seek a worthier foe?

[Vali.]

"Yeah," he said. "I sense them."

The reek of divine energy pervaded his nostrils, and he focused his eyes on the building across the street.

"…Kokabiel isn't here."

[No.]

Damn. Then he'd been too late again. No doubt the Fallen had already run to another country, off to pull strings and work machinations. He'd have to pick up the trail once more.

His shoulder rammed against an unobservant student, but he barely spared the boy a glance as he continued onwards to the crossing. Maybe he could chip away at his foul mood if he limited himself to one arm, and no usage of his Sacred Gear, but he doubted it. Stray Exorcists were usually weaker than he could account for.

[Leave them. The mice may yet lead us to larger game.]

He stopped in his tracks, uncaring of how he obstructed passers-by. "You think he's still here?"

[Perhaps. Regardless, there exists a better way to let loose your impulses.]

"He won't be strong enough yet Albion."

[Then we spur him forward a little. And if Ddraig suffers the humiliation of defeat as a result, well, that would be unavoidable.]

He considered the possibility. One inexperienced Sacred Gear wielder? No. Not even if it was a Longinus. But two high-ranking devils, complete with entire peerage?

Maybe they could give him a challenge.

* * *

"I must humbly request that the honour of this duty fall to the Eastern Orthodox Church. Please, allow us to make restitution for our failings," said a greying, rotund man.

"Your intentions are noble, but one of your men has disappeared already. It may be for the best that we consider other options; three exorcists lost is already three too great a number." The reply was spoken by a wizened nun, stern of voice and posture.

"I say we send a larger cell," came the clipped tone of a thin, bearded priest. "It is only a handful of Strays. Our men could be in and out before the devils even noticed."

"What of the Angels? What do they- "

Goodness, this was becoming tiring.

Griselda Quarta would not let that show, however, and schooled her features into a polite smile. Before her, an assembly of clergymen and church officials were seated around a large, weathered table, engrossed in debate. To her side, accompanying her and standing by the walls, were a scattering of her fellow exorcists; most of whom making no effort to hide their own boredom. It was no surprise, as the gathering had begun at noon - two hours hence - and there had not yet been any sign of progress.

She was somewhat displeased by this whole meeting, which consisted of most of the sect heads jockeying for position, but conceded it as necessary. She was experienced enough to realise the gravity of the situation; two holy relics were now within the territory of the sisters of Lucifer and Leviathan, and by excommunicated members of her own faith no less. If they so much as scratched the girls within the near future, fingers could and would be pointed, collapsing this tentative faction ceasefire as if it were a fragile house of cards.

Still, even that would not be enough to cause this amount of disagreement. There were two distinct reasons as to why this conference had stretched on so long, and the first lay with her superior, Dulio Gesualdo. When the clerics and priests became unruly in their discourse, it was Dulio that calmed them with honeyed words, the same way the man would read bedtime stories to the children residing in the Vatican's orphanages. One of the church's strongest combatants, possessor of the legendary Longinus Zenith Tempest, and representative speaker for her and every exorcist in this room and beyond.

He was currently fast asleep in front of her, head cradled in his arms.

Seated at the head of the table – though that was a lenient term for the way the chair bore his massive frame – was the second reason. It was Cardinal Priest Vasco Strada that had called this assembly, and yet the man had barely spoken a word, having spent the majority of it in deep contemplation. Whatever thoughts occupied the mind of Father Strada, she hoped would conclude soon. She'd promised Xenovia a spar later, and the young girl would be sorely disappointed if she could not hold to her word.

As if he'd read her mind, the man stood up, towering over every other occupant of the room.

"Peace, friends. If I may speak?"

It was a testament to Father Strada's legend that everyone immediately quieted. Out of the corner of her vision she could see some of the younger exorcists standing a little straighter, admiration in their eyes.

"How many years has it been, since the last major faction conflict?"

When it became clear the man was actually wanting for answer, some of the bolder ones began to trade whispers, desperately trying to recall their Sunday-school lessons.

"Fifteen centuries ago." Dulio Gesualdo yawned, stretching his arms to ward off the remnants of his recent nap. "Old Arty's final fight."

The cardinal smiled. "Yes. The Battle of Camlann, in the year of the lord 537. And even in that, the majority of combatants were human, unaware of the divine and demonic forces that shaped their destinies. For fifteen generations we have been blessed with peace. There have been unfortunate missteps; a number of which occurring in my own eighty-seven years on this earth, but on the whole, the Church stands as strong as ever."

A junior exorcist to the right of her began to applause with enthusiasm, only to stop as he realised nobody was joining him. A sheepish apology soon followed, and it was met with a round of good-natured laughter.

"To continue," chuckled Strada, "I would propose thusly. This harmony; why should we not share it? Is it not His instruction to love thy neighbour? We are preoccupied with the notion that the Devils and the Fallen cannot know of our misfortune. Why? Because we fear the vulnerability it would present? I, at least, do not consider our enemies of old to be so war-mongering that they would leap at every opportunity."

The respectful silence grew strained, and she could see the unease displayed by the more zealous believers in the room. This line of thought was commonly trod ground, and it had not been resolved for a reason.

"I can see the hesitation upon your faces. It is not unwarranted. Many of us here are old enough to remember the unfortunate missteps, and the rest have heard of the tales. Friends and family have been lost, even by the hand of those we once thought were our own."

The tense mood grew sombre, with many ducking their heads in remembrance. Several uttered a mumbled prayer.

"But I ask this of you. Do not pass this prejudice onto the younger generation. They are impressionable; I certainly remember being so at that age. Our children deserve a future where if a misstep is made, suffering will not be the result. Instead, it will be the gentle touch of a guiding hand. And to the offspring of our once-foes, this message too can be spread, so that one day the Three Factions will become a name spoken not in reference to the old years of war, but to newly-made peace. This, I believe with all my heart, to be possible."

"So what do you suggest we do, Father?" asked an archbishop. "Should we- "

The man was cut off as the doors burst open to reveal a bespectacled junior deacon, robes hoisted with one hand to make for easier running.

"Father Strada!" The deacon came to a stop at the cardinal's side, and only now could she make out the object in the other hand as a mobile phone. "I-I'm terribly sorry, but you said to inform you immediately of any developments in Kuoh."

"Not at all. Your haste does you well, young man. Please, share your findings with us."

The reassuring words brought a beaming smile to the face of the deacon, who proceeded to hold up the communications device for all to see. "Yes, of course! We've received a call from a mage; seeking parley. He said he wouldn't explain any further than that until I had brought him to you."

" _Indeed,"_ came a collected tone from the phone's speaker. " _I'm told you are called Father Strada. A pleasure."_

"I had not been aware there resided a mage in Kuoh," said the cardinal, intrigued. "To which circle do you pledge your allegiance?"

" _None. You would be hard-pressed to find record of me anywhere. I rather enjoy my privacy, you see."_

"A reasonable standpoint. But placing aside the question of how you came to be in possession of this number, I believe you have yet to introduce yourself."

" _Ah, of course. Forgive my discourtesy."_

There was a break in the words, and it was long enough to have her wondering if a penchant for privacy was enough to withhold even a name. But before Father Strada could speak again, the mage obliged in a tone that reminded her of the villains from her childhood fairy-tales.

" _You may call me Zero."_


	7. Chapter 7

The _smack_ of wood upon wood reverberated throughout the spacious training hall, masking the sounds of his entrance. From his vantage point by the doorway, Vasco Strada watched as the only two occupants of the room continued their spar.

Closest to him was a sharp-eyed blonde woman, her relaxed features misleading of the physical effort she was exerting. The way she held the polished practice sword loosely in one hand was telling of her experience, and he reminisced of the years she'd spent under his own tutelage. He prided himself in his strict teachings and arduous regimen, much to the collective chagrin of his students, but Griselda Quarta was among the few that had gone above and beyond; all without uttering a single word of complaint.

The muffled _thud_ of a connecting blow broke the rhythm of strikes, quickly followed by the recipient's sudden expulsion of breath. A young girl with cobalt hair fell to one knee coughing, her hands grasping the hilt of practice weapon she'd thrust against the floor in an effort to steady herself. Griselda released a _tsk_ of disapproval and used her own blade to sweep the makeshift crutch aside, causing her opponent to momentarily pitch forward before regaining balance.

"Keep your blade pointed towards your enemy. Again."

"Yes Instructor Quarta."

The girl stood, her breath still trying to catch up, and that was all she had time for before Griselda went at her again. One, two, three; a dizzying combination of slash, cut, thrust. The first blow was parried, then the second, and the third was avoided entirely with a rapid half-spin to the side. The girl used the momentum from the movement to carry her sword upwards, and it was brought down hard in a two-handed grip, seeking retaliation.

A lifetime of combat informed him that it would not find its mark.

Griselda calmly sidestepped the strike, choosing to convert her thrust into a horizontal swing rather than retract the blade. It connected solidly against the girl's abdomen and sent her reeling back, wheezing. He noted with approval how she managed to immediately regain her stance, keeping her sword forward as per instruction. Evidently for Griselda Quarta, that wasn't enough.

"Excessive force is only useful in a handful of situations. Match your pace to always be a step ahead of your opponent. Nothing more, nothing less. Again."

"Yes Instructor."

It was the student that moved first this time, committing to a sudden lunge in an attempt to catch the teacher off-guard. Griselda allowed the attack to reach past her own weapon before effortlessly tapping it aside, using her free hand to catch the girl before they could collide. The woman pushed her protégé back, neither overtly gentle nor forceful.

"Better, but your breathing was too erratic. And never be afraid to withdraw an attack. Doing so may even provide opportunity if an opponent pursues. Again."

"Yes, Instructor."

He drew his attention away from the pair, not wanting to disturb the training, and began to idly run his thumb over the metallic object in his hand. The hilt of the generic light-sword looked almost tiny in his palm, innocuously so, and he wondered how many deaths it'd been responsible for.

" _Zero, then," he said. "You sought parley, and you have it."_

" _It has come to my attention," the voice from the phone spoke, "that there has been a number of unwelcome visitors to Kuoh. You no doubt know of to whom I refer."_

" _We may," spoke a nun to his left, "but even so, I fail to see how it is a concern of yours."_

" _Ah, but I would wager that it is not the men that hold your interest," said Zero. "Rather, what they have in their possession. Would I be correct?"_

 _Murmurs, from the sect heads, as they processed this piece of information. A mage based in Kuoh, aware of the theft. The question hung in the air; was this stranger affiliated with the Devils, or no?_

" _You would," he confirmed, drawing several surprised looks from his associates. "And I would ask what you intend to do, knowing this."_

" _What if I were to say I would reclaim the swords on your behalf?"_

" _You would have our deepest gratitude," he spoke over the exclamations of shock, "but past dealings with mages tell me you do not make this offer out of goodwill. What would you ask for in exchange?"_

" _Simple knowledge. What else, given what I am?"_

" _A humble way of alluding to power," accused an archbishop. "How do we know to have faith in you? You have given us nothing to hold you to your word by."_

 _A deliberate pause came, as if to register offence; but if so, it did not manage to make its way into the stranger's tone._

" _In your possession lies a token of mine. Consider it a gift, to commemorate our relationship."_

 _He frowned, searching his memory. "We have no such- "_

 _A knock at the door._

 _He nodded his consent, and a junior exorcist opened it to reveal a young priest that couldn't have been older than twenty-five. After a second, he managed to identify the man as one of the aides to the deacon who had brought him the phone. In the aide's hands was a nondescript brown parcel._

" _My deepest apologies for the interruption," said the aide, "but we've just received a package from Kuoh."_

" _I see my present has arrived," remarked the mage. "I hope it is to your liking."_

 _Much of the room was unsure of how to respond, caught off-guard by the unnatural timing. Taking action, he gestured for the holder to open it. The exorcists that rimmed the room converged a little closer. Clergy members waited with bated breath, curious as to the workings of this unexpected stranger that called himself Zero._

 _When the aide pulled out what was instantly recognisable as the hilt of a light-sword, expectant gazes turned into ones of confusion._

" _From what I can see," he said, taking the dormant weapon from the aide, "this is fairly standard issue, if a bit outdated. I suppose it could be recommissioned, but it seems a peculiar choice."_

" _Do with it what you will," said the stranger. "The previous owner needs it no longer."_

" _And that owner would be?" Narrowing his eyes, his mind cast for the names of the three that had been sent to Kuoh. They had been good men, and he'd known one personally. If this was an enemy's idea of a taunt…_

" _Freed Sellzen."_

 _Ah._

 _Dark looks spread through the conclave at mention of the Stray. He could not blame them for it. While it was their prerogative to extend forgiveness, even the Church could not tolerate those unwilling to accept salvation. Undoubtedly, they could have made a better attempt, but it was equally as likely it would not have succeeded. Sellzen had been afflicted with both madness and bloodlust, and the traits only served to ostracise the young man further from his peers until a breaking point had been reached._

 _With regret, he remembered the reason why this decade had the lowest number of junior exorcists in centuries._

 _A wave of exhaustion overcame him, and he sunk into his chair. "Call a technician," he requested. "Confirm if this is true."_

 _A heavy silence blanketed the gathering, growing only more oppressive when the head armourer arrived. The heavyset man took a single glance at the hilt, grimaced, and he didn't even need to hear the next words to know the mage had been telling the truth._

" _Aye. That is the blade Sellzen stole."_

 _More than a few of his compatriots released a withheld breath, and from their appreciative expressions, he could tell the mage had already swayed over half the room._

"Father Strada? To what do we owe the pleasure?"

He looked up to see Griselda approaching, not a single drop of sweat upon her brow. Behind the woman, the blue-haired girl lay spread-eagled upon the ground with a damp towel draped across her forehead, preoccupied with the task of regulating her breathing.

"I would like to speak with Xenovia, if possible," he said. "But it can stand to wait until the end of your session."

"We are finished for today," said Griselda. "You intend to choose her, then?"

"Yes. It must be her. Do you disagree?"

"Not at all," said Griselda, and he was treated to one of her rare, true, smiles. "She showcases ability greater than myself when I was her age. Though never let her hear I said that."

He laughed, a deep rumbling welling forth from his chest. "Her teacher did learn from the best, after all."

"This coming from the man who regularly loses to the local children." Griselda shook her head ruefully. "She knows about the Excaliburs already. I'll leave the mage to you."

"Tell me, Griselda, do you think she has another lesson in her?"

"I always make certain that my students are barely able to stand after a spar," said the woman. "But you will never hear her admit it. Xenovia!"

The girl sat up, removing the towel and placing it aside. "Yes, Instructor Quarta?" she called back.

Upon seeing him she shot to her feet, if unsteadily, and jogged towards them. Shoulder-length blue locks bounced, revealing a streak of green hanging over her right eye. "Hello, Father Strada. Have you come to see my progress with Durandal?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said. "It is good to see you working so hard, Xenovia, but rest for now. I plan to be so rude as to trouble you for another round soon."

She stood straighter and gave her response without hesitation. "As an Exorcist, I must be ready for combat at all times."

To his side he managed to glimpse Griselda suppressing a grin. Only a handful other than he could place the miniscule quirk of her lips as a tell, and apparently Xenovia was not among them.

"Admirable," he praised. "Then who am I to say no?"

He accepted Griselda's practice sword, stepping past the two and further into the training hall, and rolled his shoulders to ease the stiffness of old age from them. Behind him, Xenovia quickly made to follow.

"I'll leave you two to it then," said Griselda, "as I have other matters to attend to. I'll see you at dinner, Xenovia. Dulio passed me some rather outlandish desserts earlier, and I'm afraid there are too many for me alone. Perhaps you could invite a friend or two of yours."

"Yes, Inst- "

"Lessons are finished for today Xenovia," interrupted the woman, chidingly.

The young exorcist gave a slight smile, and corrected herself. "See you, Sister Griselda."

His heart warmed at the exchange as he heard Griselda's footsteps fade into the distance. The Church could not replace their wards' original families, but let it not be said that they did not provide one of their own.

"If you are not too tired," he said, testing the weight of the wooden weapon in his hand with a quick twirl, "then I would ask that you use Durandal today. Even if it is for only a few strikes, I would like to exchange blows with the blade I carried in my youth."

Her reply was to outstretch her right arm, palm splayed open as she chanted practised words.

"Saint Peter. Saint Basil. Saint Denis. Of you who reside within this blade, blessed by the Holy-Mother Mary, I make this plea. Release!"

Space warped, rippling as if it were a pond struck by a single stone. Xenovia reached her arm into the centre of the vortex, and when she withdrew it, so came Durandal.

Easily surpassing a metre-and-a-half in length, steel of a fathomless blue was lined with gold trim, and such was its presence that the surroundings seemed dim in comparison. It held a single wicked edge, the elegance with which it cut through the air seeming almost ill-fit for a blade of its size. But that was never a term that could be used to describe this sword; what it embodied.

Memory of the first time it had graced his hold came easily to him, of when he had still been able to fit both his hands within the semi-circular guard upon the hilt. As he'd grown, he'd come to wield it single-handed, but that had never diminished its significance.

No signal was given, but they both advanced as one. She darted towards him, focusing her all into the charge, and he took but a single, easy step, infusing the wooden practice sword in his hand with holy energy. The first blow was the hardest, and he heard his blade _creak_ as he deflected it. The second came from his right side, Xenovia making use of nimble footwork to dance around him. He pivoted on his back leg, and parried that one too. Half-a-dozen trades followed the same routine, with him only turning and her seeking an opening.

Noting the exercise in futility, Xenovia leapt back, adjusted her grip, and came for the final attempt. A mighty two-handed swing, containing the last of her reserves.

He blocked it.

Or at least, he would have, if his practice sword had not snapped in two upon contact. It appeared he'd underestimated the amount of energy he'd needed to hold it together.

Maintaining his composure, his free hand came up to grasp the airborne half of splintered wood, and he immediately pulled it back to cross it against its counterpart, halting Xenovia's attack with the intersection of the two shards. The movement took less than a fraction of a second.

"Dear me," he said, their weapons still locked together. "Making an old man pull out his tricks. How fast these youngsters grow."

She stared at him disbelievingly, as if wanting to retort, but settled for staggering back, empty even of words. Durandal sunk into storage and their spar was over as fast as it had begun.

"Thank you, Xenovia. Rest well; you've earned it."

She nodded gratefully and collapsed onto the ground. He allowed her a minute of respite as he considered how to frame his request. He recalled the image of an eager little girl, hair still long and looking up at him from amidst a group of children of similar age.

"Would you like to hear a story, Xenovia?"

"I know all your stories Father," she said. "Every exorcist does."

The sad thing was that she was almost right. Maybe he'd been a little too passionate in his youth.

"Not this one," he said. "To be quite honest, it is not a story as such. There is no ending, you see."

"Then I'd like to hear it anyway."

"In that case, we begin in wartime. The last great World War, and thankfully, now a distant memory. For just as the supernatural affects the human world, the latter shapes the former. I found myself, on orders from my mentor at the time, in a small village in… oh, say, France? Perhaps Italy. It was close enough to the border that it didn't matter. I was after an enemy of the Church you see. We knew not who, only that they had decimated many of our ranks without word nor warning. I'd set out with a small band of fellow exorcists, of course, but when I'd arrived I was alone. Not due to the reason you're thinking. They'd simply chosen to remain in some of the many towns along the war-front, tending to the needs of the injured and faithful."

"They…" She seemed hesitant to form her next words, but a patient nod from him let them loose. "They abandoned their mission?"

"We could not turn our eyes from such suffering. I, as the only one without healing capabilities at the time, was the only one to stay with our original task. It is a choice I could not make, but always wished I could. A bandage suits me more than a blade, I think."

And yet he'd had the highest compatibility with Durandal since the original wielder, Roland. Not that he minded, really. He'd done a lot of good with it throughout the course of his life.

"So," he continued, "to my surprise, the killer revealed himself almost at once. Possibly, drunk on his own arrogance, he thought to end me as easily as he'd done to so many others. It was understandable. A Fallen member of God's messengers, with ten black wings and skin as pale as moonlight. Never had I fought such a hard fight. The sky rained light that day, and I think it would have been beautiful to witness if I had not been dodging for dear life. It seemed hopeless, you know, there amongst the ruins of the village. I was bleeding, alone, and a Grigori whose name I didn't even know was toying with me, insulting my faith and my vows."

"And then?" She was enraptured, and he took a little pride in that.

"Durandal answered my call," he said simply. "And that is the point of this story. People, even in the upper echelons of the Church, forget that it has a will of its own. Just as much as you or me or any of its previous wielders, it has its wants, needs, and is influenced by the ones closest to it. I'm sure you've felt it."

"I have," she affirmed. "But I'm not sure I know what to make of it."

"It is easy to see it as a tool for destruction. To be quite fair, it is one. But if it wants what its user wishes, then what else do you think it could be capable of?"

"Healing?" she guessed.

"Not as literal," he smiled.

"…Peace?"

"Correct," he said. "Not through some special ability or power, but by what it represents. The bearer of Durandal, for better or worse, has ever been at the forefront of the Church. It is always they who provide other exorcists with direction and guidance. That is why I want you to be the one to head to Japan."

"To retrieve the Excaliburs," she said.

"Yes. My colleagues will tell you to stay hidden. To not reveal yourself to Kuoh's overseers." He grinned good-naturedly. "They forget that Durandal's wielder is often notorious when it comes to bending orders."

She looked at him searchingly for a few moments. "I don't think I can be friends with Devils, Father."

"As long as you are not at each other's throats, negotiations can be opened. That is all I can ask for."

He knew she had no bad blood with Devils beyond the infrequent encounters with strays. It was a little selfish of him to place this on her, but he was too well-known, and would only make the other Factions nervous.

She nodded her agreement. "…I'll try. When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow. You'll be entering as a transfer student. They're your age, you know. You might find that you have a lot more in common with them than you think."

"My equipment?"

"Standard issue, along with Durandal of course." He glanced around, and bent in a little closer. "Just between you and me, the Excalibur program has been showing some exceedingly promising results as of late."

"You mean…" Her eyes widened slightly.

"You might find a rather nice new sword upon your return," he winked. "You can tell your partner as well, but you didn't hear it from me. Griselda wants to keep it a secret from the both of you."

"Irina?" asked Xenovia. "Will I be working with her again?'

"Not this time," he said. "We've made an arrangement with another in that regard. But there may be a few things you wish to ask of her anyway. She claimed to know Kuoh like the back of her hand, and we've left the issue of your residency with her. But before I go into the details, I'm sure you'll want to go and change. You'll soon be cold if you stay in your sparring gear any longer. I'll clean up here after you."

She seemed reluctant, but heeded his suggestion anyway. Before she made to leave, she turned to ask him a question.

"The story, Father. What happened after Durandal…?"

"I cornered him, but he escaped, which is why I don't tell this story. The ending is rather unsatisfying; wouldn't you agree?"

"Did you ever find out what his name was?"

Yes, but he hadn't heard the name since, in all these years. He wasn't entirely sure if that was good or bad. He decided to settle on the vague hope that it meant his opponent had spent the time working towards redemption. It was a nice thought.

"Of course," he said. "There aren't very many ten-winged Fallen in the world."

He unconsciously rubbed his forearm as he spoke, where an old scar had long since faded away from.

"I believe it was Kokabiel."

* * *

In the noble courts of Britannia, power took the form of covert whispers and clandestine meetings. Upon the battlefields of Area Eleven, it was the presence of his loyal soldiers, and the application of audacious tactics. And then, in the realm of Kings and Emperors, hidden to the rest of the world, the very definition of power itself knelt before the holders of Geass and Code, acquiescing to men and women both chosen and cursed.

But here, in the domain of myth and legend? Power was power; pure, unadulterated might. Held by a countless number of races and individuals, it was displayed as easily as one might have brokered a deal with a desperate Baron. To be sure, allegiances held sway over the way it was directed, but those very agreements were proposed and enforced by the powerful themselves.

However, that did not mean there existed no way for the rest to gain influence. For the ones not fortunate enough to receive the lion's share, several methods were readily available.

He strongly doubted that this was one of them.

"Lelouch? Is it working?"

His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the soft candle-light of the Occult Research clubroom, and he looked up from where he was seated cross-legged on the floor into the curious orbs of Rias Gremory.

"I am uncertain," he said. "How do I know once it does?"

"Good point." She nodded and turned away from him to face her peerage. "Asia?"

The cheerful blonde was standing by the desk, poring over a substantially heavy tome that looked as if it would crumble from a moderate breeze.

"Um," said Asia, finger tracing lines on… was that vellum? "It says… 'The meditator will be aware of when he gains mastery over his spiritual core, as it is accompanied by a profound sense of enlightenment. This can often take lifetimes, with some seekers never achieving the feat at all.'"

"Uh," said Issei. "Maybe we should have read that part before starting."

"Yet," he said dryly, "I seem to distinctly remember all of you telling me you 'knew what I had to do'."

"Oops," intoned Koneko emotionlessly.

Rias sighed. "That makes the last of Sona's books. I suppose that'll be it for today, unless you're willing to keep trying."

"No," he declined. "I think I have had quite enough soul-searching for one day."

He stood, brushing imaginary dust off his knees, and stretched half-an-hours' worth of immobility from his body. At least it had not been a complete waste of his time; he now knew to never put stock into Eastern meditative techniques. He wasn't quite sure what to do with that information, but it appeased him a little nonetheless.

His repertoire was growing by the day now. Minor illusions, puffs of flame and ice, flashes of luminescence. He wouldn't be able to compete with a devil's magical reserves for quite a while, but if he had his way, he would not need to.

"I'm sure you'll find something," said Akeno. "After all, it took our Issei quite some time to become comfortable with his own power."

"Yeah," agreed the boy in question. "Actually, hey, maybe you could try the same thing I did?"

"I'm open to ideas," he said.

"Well," said Issei, jumping up from the couch and into a wide stance. "When I want to use my Devil magic, I sort of just picture myself, uh, charging up? It used to take a few tries, but now it comes pretty fast. I mean, I did a similar thing all the time as a kid."

"Using an imagined visual aide," he nodded. "A fair suggestion."

Rias blinked. "Issei, that sounds like…"

"Haha," the Pawn grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I get a lot of inspiration from Dragonball."

"Dragon?" he enquired. "Is this related to your Sacred Gear?"

"What!" exclaimed Issei. "Lelouch! Are you serious? You don't know it?"

"No?" he hazarded. "Should I?"

"My goodness," remarked Akeno. "You continue to surprise."

"It's okay Lelouch," said Asia. "I didn't know either, when I first came here. Issei lent me his copies!"

"A sheltered youth," said Koneko sagely.

"What kind of childhood did you have Lelouch?" Issei was shaking his head. "I feel kind of bad for you. You really missed out."

Somehow, despite his own obvious ignorance, the thing that irked him most about this situation was Issei's pity.

"Come to think of it," mused Rias. "We never did expand on that topic. I'm interested to know what sort of upbringing teaches one chess, group combat, and gambling."

"I, for one," smiled Akeno, "would love to hear about little Lulu."

"I bet he was super smart," contributed Asia.

"How are English girls compared to Japanese girls?" wondered Issei.

"Well then," said Rias. "All in favour?"

"No," he said, but it was drowned out amongst a wave of simultaneous agreements.

"Excellent!" clapped Rias, once. "Kiba?"

The blonde's eyes refocused at mention of his name. "Hmm? Oh, yes, I agree. …Sorry, what were we talking about again?"

"Whether or not I had any rights to privacy," he answered. "I believe the consensus was a resounding 'no'."

Kiba tilted his head. "That's not good. Have you tried asking nicely?"

"Lelouch," said Rias, a touch more seriously. "If you truly don't want to, we won't pry."

Of course. It had been nothing more than good-natured teasing, as it always was. But he was reluctant to lie – without purpose, that is. They were deserving of more than that. There were too many bridges that could be burned already, for another to be constructed. Especially if for a meaningless reason.

But neither did he want their pity, unintentional as it may be. Quite obviously, his childhood had shaped who he was today, and trivial as it may seem, he did not want it being subject to well-meaning sympathy. So if he were to remain silent, it would mean weeks of understanding glances when they thought he wasn't looking. How troublesome.

Well, there had always been one subject he'd never feel averse to talking about.

"I have a younger sister," he said without notice, gaining the attention of everybody in the room. "The most – and I do not use hyperbole here – wonderful sibling one could ever ask for."

"You sound like you love her very much," smiled Rias. "What is she like?"

He closed his eyes while he reminisced, smiling. "Kind-hearted, patient, and ever so understanding. Always able to see the good in someone, no matter how deep it was buried. Quite similar to you in that regard, Asia."

She blushed deeply at his praise, waving it off with both hands. "I'm not, I mean, ohhh…"

"What is she called?" asked Akeno.

"Nunnally." A name he would never grow tired of saying.

"Nunnally Lamperouge," Kiba tested the words. "A beautiful name."

"Sister…" mumbled Koneko.

"Is she living in England?" enquired Asia.

"I must confess that I'm not quite certain," he lied. This one, at least, was unavoidable. "We remain separated by some rather extenuating circumstances."

"We could help you find her," offered Rias. "I kind of want to meet her."

"Thank you, but our circumstances go beyond mere location. Wherever she is, however, it is enough for me that I know she is happy."

"Don't worry, Lelouch," reassured Issei. "I've got your back. If you ever get lonely, you can stay over at my place; Matsuda and Motohama do it all the time. I'll lend you my-."

"Thank you," he replied, a little too quickly, "but no. I'm quite alright."

"Speaking of which Issei," said Rias, "I've just remembered. Your mother told me over breakfast this morning that a foreign exchange student would be boarding with us for a while. Apparently they're a friend of an old playmate of yours. The house renovations I ordered should be done within the week, so they'll be living in one of the spare bedrooms."

"Old playmate?" asked Issei. "Oh, you mean Shidou-kun? Man, we did everything together as kids. Sweet! Any friend of his is a friend of mine!"

He blinked. Surely this was a coincidence? Fate could not be _that_ cruel. Well, no. It could be, and had been. Often to his disfavour. But why did it seem as if Issei was the source of all his recent inconveniences? This was no great setback, if a setback at all, but he was struck with the sudden urge to commit some petty vengeance nonetheless. He reigned it in, though. He was decidedly above that.

"Do you have a picture of Nunnally, Lelouch?" asked Asia. "I wonder what she looks like."

"She probably looks like Lelouch," said Issei. "But with bigger- "

"Don't _ever_ refer to my sister in such a vulgar manner, _Issei Hyoudou_."

The cold in the words caused Issei to flinch slightly, propagating a strained silence within the room. He fixed the boy with a glacial stare, but to his surprise, Issei didn't look away.

"…Sorry Lelouch," the Pawn apologised awkwardly. "I wasn't really thinking."

"No," he dismissed, after a moments consideration. "No harm was done. I was a little too harsh with my tone."

"If that is a little," said Kiba, "then I shall endeavour to not get on your bad side. I swear I felt a chill down my spine."

"Me too," came Akeno's amused voice. "Though it was more of a shiver. Protective, are we Lelouch?"

"…Sis-con," said Koneko.

"Pardon?" He raised an eyebrow at the white-haired girl, not having caught the word.

She placed both palms over her mouth and shook her head, golden eyes failing to betray any emotion.

"Do be careful Issei," said Rias half-jokingly. "I'd hate to see what nefarious revenge Lelouch would concoct if you rubbed him the wrong way."

The way her eyes gave a flicker of concern showed him the true meaning of her words. Waving it off lightly, he accepted in good humour. "Oh, it would be nothing too grand. I believe there are only two major bookstores in Kuoh. I could have them closed down in under a day."

"Hey, wait," said Issei. "But that's where I buy-"

"Well," he interrupted. "I think I'll be making my way home for today. Unfortunately, I don't share the same affinity for the night that devils have."

Akeno chuckled behind her raised hand. "Good evening, Lelouch."

"Lelouch?" said Issei, a little louder. "You wouldn't really do that, would you?"

He nodded his farewell and made for the door, a chorus of goodbyes coming from behind him, courtesy of each member of the Occult Research Club. Before he left the room entirely however, he could not resist thinking aloud.

"I believe a novel in a series I'm following comes out today. Perhaps I should go pick it up before it is too late."

Issei, still attempting to catch his attention, gave a nervous laugh that followed him as he left.

"Lelouch, you were joking before right? Lelouch? …Lelouch?"

* * *

"I'm telling you Issei, Prez wins ten times out of ten."

He turned his head to the side and looked at Saji pityingly. "No way. Buchou beats her in every category, top to bottom."

They were walking alongside each other through the woods behind the academy, stacks of files and folders in their arms. Part of the historic school building that the Occult Research Club resided in was also used as storage, so when Sona had asked for some old club budgets for reference to, it fell to the Pawns to do the grunt work. Dusk had already gone its course, but their enhanced vision ensured their footing in the dark of the night.

"Can she cook?" asked Saji stubbornly. "I don't think we're going to agree on physical taste, so let's compare skills."

"Of course she can," he nodded enthusiastically. "In fact, she actually made lunch for me and Asia today. It was so delicious I cried!"

He ducked his head to avoid a protruding tree branch and his blonde compatriot did the same. While he looked up afterwards, however, Saji did not.

"Saji?" he said. "You alright?"

The boy was staring down dejectedly, and mumbled something he didn't hear.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I want to eat president's homemade cooking…" repeated his fellow Pawn.

He shifted his load to his left arm as he used the other to pat his friend on the back. "Don't worry man. It'll happen one day."

"Somehow, being comforted by you doesn't help that much," sighed Saji. "Do you think Kiba or Lelouch would give me girl advice if I asked?"

"Hey!"

"Kidding, kidding," laughed the blonde. "Thanks Issei."

"Nah, it was nothing," he said, scratching his cheek.

"Speaking of Lelouch though, he wasn't hanging around you guys after school like he usually is. I think Prez wanted to use these as an excuse to try get him to join us again," Saji indicated the documents in his arms. "I keep telling her it's never going to happen, but I'm pretty sure she knows. I think she just finds it fun at this point."

"Oh," he said. "Yeah. He told us he got a part-time job recently. I think he's there today."

"Did he say what it was?"

"Don't think so. Only that he found it 'pretty fulfilling.'"

Frankly, he didn't care what Lelouch did in his spare time as long as the upperclassman didn't follow through with the threat from a few days ago. He didn't know how Lelouch could even suggest something like that. Access to porn was a basic necessity of humanity! Emphasis on 'man'!

Speaking of recent events, he wondered what kind of person the exchange student would be. They were meant to be arriving tomorrow, so-

Without warning, a brief flash of scarlet lit his surroundings as Boosted Gear formed onto his left arm. Scraps of paper fluttered to the ground, torn to shreds by the sharp edges of the gauntlet.

"Aw, Ddraig," he complained. "Tell me when- "

 **[** _ **Albion.**_ **]**

The name was snarled with such bestial ferocity that it stunned him into silence. He didn't think he'd ever heard Ddraig express any measurable degree of emotion, so this anger-

"There you are," came a voice from high up in the trees. Leaves rustled and branches snapped as the speaker leapt onto the ground. Keen blue eyes observed them from underneath a wild curtain of dark silver hair, and a young man in a leather jacket stepped forward, hand outstretched in a fist.

"Let's go, Welsh," said the newcomer. "I hope you haven't been lazing around."

No more notice was given, and he instinctively jumped back as the stranger came rushing towards him. The punch barely grazed his cheek as he jerked his head to dodge, and he heard the bark of the tree behind him shatter from the force of the blow.

"Whoa! Wait! Who are you?!" he yelled, scrambling to the side. "What kind of person- "

[Do you not feel it, Issei Hyoudou, how we yearn for this? Can you not hear Albion's taunting?]

The stranger had temporarily ceased the assault, and he backpedalled as he processed Ddraig's words.

"You didn't tell me I'd have to fight him this soon!" He'd been told of Albion. The Vanishing Dragon, the White to Ddraig's Red, but in his mind a confrontation had been a long way off. "What's he even doing here?!"

"Vali Lucifer," introduced the young man. "Land a good hit and I just might tell you."

This time he attempted to preemptively dodge the punch, but it never came. The newcomer's arm had been pulled to the side, constricted by a pale, vine-like length of ethereal matter. It originated from the mouth of a shadowy black lizard head perched on Saji's hand, and the Pawn gave them both an irritated glare.

"Longinus this, Longinus that," the Pawn said. "I'm sick of it. You guys aren't the only Dragons around, you know!"

The stranger examined the bound arm, attempting to wrest the binding off, but hand only met air as it passed through the line. "A power absorbing type?" Vali gave a fierce grin. "Perfect. This would have been boring otherwise."

"Genshirou Saji, Pawn of Sona Sitri," declared the blonde. "I don't know what problem you have with us, but as a member of the Kuoh Student Council, I'll be damned if I let you rampage around here!"

Man, he couldn't let Saji of all people show him up, not when their masters had a rivalry. From the look of it Vali wasn't taking them seriously, so the guy would probably leave after, right?

"Alright Ddraig," he said. "Let's do this!"

[Boost!]

He dashed madly forward, trying to catch Vali off-guard, but his clumsy punch was avoided with ease. The silver-haired youth swayed right, lazily, and sent a fist into his gut that blew him back several metres and across the ground.

"That the best you got?" asked Vali. "You might want to boost a few more times before you even _try."_

He picked himself up, wiping dirt from the corner of his mouth.

[Boost!]

"Issei!" yelled Saji. A second vine latched onto him, glowing upon contact. "Take it!"

The influx of strength pumped into him steadily, coursing through his muscles. "Thanks Saji!" he returned.

[We will not win.]

"C'mon Ddraig," he smiled defiantly. "What happened to that stuff about what being a Dragon means?"

[You did not allow me to finish. We will not win.]

He felt the emotion burning within him, a raw eagerness for combat that was only partially his.

[ _But we will make him work for it_.]

[Boost!]

He went in again, doubling his speed from before, and it showed in the way his fist whistled through the air. Vali avoided it again, but it had come an inch closer. Gritting his teeth, he prepared for the inevitable counterattack. It crashed into his chest, and his shoes carved shallow furrows into the soil as he skidded backwards.

"Oi, oi," said Saji. "I keep draining and draining, but it's not working on him at all. Tell me you've got something up your sleeve, Issei!"

The blonde pawn had his free arm gripping the one bearing the lizard, and was straining to pull against Vali to no avail. The silver-haired delinquent stood unmoving, expression growing more annoyed by the moment.

[Boost!]

Going head-first wasn't going to work. Their levels were too different. Vali hadn't even brought out a weapon. He cast his eyes about, searching for something, anything he could use to gain an advantage. They caught sight of broken branches and scattered leaves littered across the ground, and he glanced up.

"Ddraig," he smiled. "Can you do it?"

[You have already given me a limb. A poor partner I would be if I did not return the favour in kind.]

A Devil's greatest gift was their creativity, and it was that trait he called upon to shape his Sacred Gear. His gauntlet shone as it melted into radiance, swiftly spreading to cover his entire arm. But it did not stop there, continuing its path across his upper chest, then finally consuming his other arm. It coalesced into solid plate, encasing his upper body in segments of deep crimson, with only his head was left bare.

And that was only the beginning.

A slight offset of weight on his back, as armour flowed into the cast his mind had designed. Two imposing, polished wings formed, composed of seamless metallic sections that endlessly shifted and morphed. Rias had told him that he would come to have a grasp on a Devil's wings in due time, but these, he already understood with every fibre of his being.

[Wings are a Dragon's freedom exemplified. Use them well.]

"Saji!" he called out. "Pitch!"

[Transfer!]

Even as he sent power back through his link with the blonde, Saji's eyes had lit up in understanding. The pawn heaved on the line coiled around Vali's arm, the sudden shift in force sending the silver-haired youth off balance. The bearer of Albion regained footing almost immediately, but it was enough of an opening already.

He barrelled into Vali, locking his arms around his opponent in a vice grip. A single, hefty beat of his newly-formed wings shot them both into the air, overshooting the tree canopy in a matter of heartbeats.

His arms were pried apart with ease. "You really don't think I have wings too?" asked Vali. "What is this meant to achieve?"

They were terrifyingly high now, giving him a bird's eye view of Kuoh. Before Vali could push away from him, he smiled. "This."

His wings enclosed his opponent, locking together and pinning Vali's arms to his sides. Almost at once, they began to drop, falling towards the ground with increasing velocity. It was crazy; suicidal even. He'd have to angle it exactly right so that Vali hit the ground first. But it was the best he could come up with on such short notice. If he couldn't hurt the silver-haired youth, he'd let something else do it for him.

An unexpected sound caused him to stare disbelievingly. Vali was _laughing_. What the hell was wrong with this guy?

[Divide.]

The _screech_ of friction on metal deafened him as his wings burst open, releasing his opponent. He levelled off his descent, bringing himself back upright.

When he recovered, he was treated to the sight of Divine Dividing in all its glory.

It took the form of shimmering, cerulean pinions, covered in flecks of brilliance that imitated the backdrop of the starry night sky. At times it seemed almost white, the colour of freshly-fallen snow.

"Issei Hyoudou," said Vali, hands in pockets. "Looks like this wasn't a waste of time after all. Ready for round two?"

"Can't we just talk this out or something?" he suggested, unwilling. "I don't even have a reason to fight you."

"Albion and Ddraig," returned Vali, "is reason enough."

[He has the right of it. The White is and always will be our inverse.]

He was about to respond, but a torrential pillar of water came gushing from below, the condensed liquid spraying forth like a geyser. He manoeuvred to dodge, and Vali did the same.

"There will be no round two," a girl's terse declaration sounded.

Sona Sitri ascended on bat-like wings, placing herself between him and his rival. "Vali Lucifer. What business does a ward of the Grigori have in Kuoh? I hope for your sake that I deem your answer satisfactory."

"Or?" asked Vali coolly.

Sona adjusted her glasses with a dexterous hand. "Or I will be sending a strongly worded missive to Azazel using my full rank as Kuoh's overseer. I do not believe I am the only one to think of doing so; your notoriety precedes you. How many has he received from others airing their grievances, I wonder?"

He watched the two match stares, one rebellious and the other authoritative. It ended with Vali conceding, shrugging off the tense atmosphere.

"Just sightseeing," Vali said. "Before I leave the country. I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow."

"See to it that you are," Sona said firmly.

The silver-haired youth turned, throwing a set of parting words back over the shoulder as he made to leave.

"There's a couple of stray ants crawling around your town, Miss Overseer. They're not worth my time, but maybe you'd be interested."

"Devils?" Sona asked quickly.

"Exorcists," said Vali. "Later, Welsh. Get stronger."

And the next moment, Vali was a streak in the distance, a testament to Divine Dividing's alacrity.

Sona turned to face him, and he suddenly felt very uneasy.

"Uh," he said. "I can explain?"

She gave him a clinical smile, descending and beckoning for him to follow. "Saji has already informed me of the situation. I cannot really fault you for acting as you did, so I'll let it pass. For today. In the future, remember that your first priority should go to reaching Rias or I."

They touched onto the ground, his Sacred Gear fading upon contact, and he was immediately assailed by Asia pulling him into a tight hug.

"Oh, Issei!" she said. "Are you alright?"

"We heard everything," said Rias. Surrounding them was every Devil of Kuoh Academy, expressing varying degrees of concern. "I can cover the east side of town, Sona, if you cover the west."

"No," said Sona, after some consideration. "There is no reason to believe urgency is needed. We should allow these two to rest. We can move out in full force tomorrow."

Saji gave him a wave from where the blonde was being fussed over by fellow members of Sona's peerage, and he returned it. He was grateful for Sona's offer; he was already feeling exhausted from the match.

Absentmindedly reassuring Asia's worries and tuning out Buchou and Sona as they planned for tomorrow, he fell into a half-daze that lasted until he landed onto his bed at home. Falling asleep immediately, he didn't even have the time to freak out over Buchou sleeping next to him. A common occurrence it may be now, but he would still never get used to it.

It was only when he woke in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom that he addressed the vaguest sense of unrest eating at him. Kiba. That was it. When he'd landed with Sona, Kiba had been devoid of the usual polite smile. Weird. He couldn't quite remember what expression the Knight had been wearing instead, so he decided it wasn't worth worrying about.

It was probably nothing, anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Short chapter as I get back into the groove of things. Sorry for that, and for all the delays too. My Finals end on the 19_ _th_ _, after which the earlier chapters will be cleaned up and I'll attempt to be more regular. I'm thinking monthly-ish. This story_ _will_ _get finished._

 _Thanks to DarkJackel for his patience and assistance with editing for this chapter. And thank you to the rest of you for sticking around._

* * *

It seemed there was a popular notion held by the masses that insanity and genius were two sides of the same coin. That, on any given day, the difference between the two would amount to nothing more than the success of a coin flip. If that were indeed the case, then Lelouch liked to think he held the ability cheat the odds. That he had the influence to reach out and change the outcome of any given situation with nothing more than his own ingenuity.

Of course, this had led to his sanity being called into question on several occasions, often by those closest to him. The unfortunate reality was that they had also been right to do so, most of the time. He'd had one too many passionate outbursts for his own liking, though even those were preferable to the depressive stupor he'd fallen victim to after the fabricated death of his sister.

Which was why when he glanced at a discarded beer bottle and saw the reflection of an insane man, he felt a very strong sense of distaste.

With a mop of silver locks and crazed red eyes set into a permanent glare, Freed Sellzen was the very poster boy for madness. And if the stories he'd heard from Kiba and the Church were true, the deceased exorcist had tried his hand at being one for lechery too.

The Glamour had been the most taxing piece of spellwork he'd attempted yet, leaving him completely drained and unsteady on his feet. But it _had_ been successful, and it left his face a perfect replica of Freed's. It was fragile, and it would only last a handful of hours, but that was all he needed.

If he had any misgivings at all, it would be for the fact that the magical illusion didn't account for height. He was a full head taller than Freed had been. He'd partially accounted for it with a slouch, but trusted his own ability to play it off if the discrepancy was mentioned. Humans were gullible creatures by nature.

The musty corridor he walked down was littered with trash and refuse, the leavings of squatters and bored teenagers on a dare. Dust coated every surface, and his footsteps stirred up small clouds of it in his wake. Some settled at the hem of his longcoat. It was modelled after Freed's, naturally, with added bloodstains for good measure. Far from perfect, as it was only from memory, but people tended to overlook the small details in favour of what they expected to see.

Eyes and whispers followed him from the rooms to either side as he made his way down. Galilei's band of strays. None of them saw fit to call out to him. Perhaps they were intimidated. Doing a mental headcount, he noticed there were a handful less of them. Curious. His surveillance hadn't caught any leaving the building, before he entered.

His destination was at the far-right end of the corridor. A white, slightly ajar door, the paint faded and scratched. Striding forward and pushing it open, he shifted his voice up half a pitch as he spoke.

"I need a new sword." _Too steady._ He continued, making his tone more aggressive, more nasal. "And I need it by tonight. Those devils aren't going to kill themselves." Pausing slightly, he gave his best approximation of a feral grin. "Though that would be a fucking hilarious sight to watch."

The only occupant of the room gave a slight jump in his chair at the intrusion, causing it to creak. It was one of the only furnishings in the otherwise sparse room, likely left behind by a former tenant.

He managed to make out sheafs of paper covered in scrawlings on a rickety desk before the rotund man turned to face him, giving him his first look at Valper Galilei.

It appeared that being a fugitive had not been kind to the disgraced cleric. Dishevelled and wild-eyed, grey hair and unflattering wrinkles placed him on the wrong side of middle-aged. The look was paired with a condescending scowl, the kind only men who thought too much of themselves wore. Perhaps he could have pulled it off, if the stained robes and round spectacles didn't make it seem petty.

Altogether, the man reminded him of a fat, self-important mouse.

"Freed," said Valper. "I thought you were dead."

"Do I look dead?" he sneered.

He stepped further into the room, surreptitiously looking for signs of the stolen swords as he did so. He spotted a pair immediately, placed reverentially atop a white sheet that covered a bench on the far side of the room. Just from a glance he could tell they were unmistakeably the Excaliburs.

"No," said Valper, peering at him, "in fact, you look like you're in perfect health. Where have you been this whole time?"

Suspicion? No, there was a hint of resentment in the man's voice. It seemed as if Freed's absence had been sorely missed.

"Having a little fun. There are so many sinners in this town Father," he said with false innocence. "I thought I'd show them the error of their ways."

Playing the part of Freed required little imagination on his part. He simply conjured up his memories of the mind reader Mao, and gave them a more bloodthirsty twist. Ironically, insanity was predictable.

Valper looked unimpressed. "We don't have the time for your games, Freed. Or have you forgotten what's at stake here?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

"And… the Fallen you were with? What about them?" asked Valper hesitantly.

 _Interesting. He's afraid. Of them? Or something else?_

He gave his best rendition of a snicker. "Not so lucky. Oh, the looks on their faces."

Not that he'd seen them, but he'd heard the quartet of Fallen hadn't died with much dignity. The news of their demise didn't seem to affect Valper. The man simply began to pace back and forth in the confines of the room, muttering to himself.

Leaving Valper in his own little world, he leisurely stepped over to the swords. They were still in their scabbards, which were pristine works of craftmanship in and of themselves. The regal gold and brown colouring promised of further magnificence within.

The Church had wanted him to wait for their agent. They expected that he wouldn't be able to handle the task of retrieving the swords alone. Or, if they did, they didn't trust him enough to. That was fine. All the more surprise for when he had them ready for their exorcist's arrival.

He wasn't naïve enough to think he could win their complete trust. But he could elevate himself to a position where it would be impossible for them to refuse his requests.

He certainly wasn't fool enough to reveal himself to their exorcist in person, costumed or otherwise. As when dealing with Geass users, supernatural combatants were best dealt with indirectly. At least until he had a way to guarantee his safety.

Tonight was an exception, due to his extensive preparation and certainty that Valper didn't have a shred of power beyond that of the average human. He _could_ have done this without coming in person. It was possible, with his resources at hand. But this method relied only on himself, and so it had been the one he'd chosen.

That was not to say he didn't have contingencies. He preferred to be self-reliant, but not _stupidly_ so.

Returning his attention to the swords, he made out names inscribed upon the sheaths in gold inlay. Some foreign, archaic language no doubt.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" spoke Valper from behind him. "Among the finest works He has ever had a hand in, even in its fractured state. Responsible for the lives and deaths of thousands. A blade that has razed cities to the ground. Brought demons to their knees. Elevated the meek to become kings. And the sheep would prefer to let it rot in a vault, fractured, and gathering dust. Pathetic."

"Spare me the lecture old man," he said, brushing Valper off. "If I can't go hunting with them, they're worthless to me."

The news from the Church that the Excaliburs rejected most hands had made matters slightly more difficult, but not overly so. After all, the swords weren't the ones he had to trick.

"I've already made it so that you can use them," said Valper, voice hiding a note of irritation. "Here. You'll need these."

The man held out a palm, showing him four translucent crystals. Evenly cut, coloured somewhere between clear and white, they were each roughly the size of an apple core. A soft light emanated from them, growing stronger as Valper stepped towards him and the swords.

"Crystallised light attribute," Valper explained. "One needs a certain amount in their body to be able to wield an Excalibur. Any Holy Sword, to be exact. These four are some of my most potent. You'd be hard-pressed to find innocence purer than that of a child's, after all. Unfortunately, these have also rejected the other hosts rather… violently. But if it's you…"

Ah, so that was why there had been a few missing among the strays. Now, how to avoid meeting the same fate? It would draw too much suspicion if he were to make an excuse and leave. He grabbed one and began to play with it, tossing it up and down, between either hand. Weighing his options. The fact it was most likely a child's soul he was playing with could be dealt with later.

Coming to a decision, he caught the crystal and pocketed it.

"Is this going to take long?" he asked Valper, faking annoyance. "I've got places to be, you know. Devils to kill."

"Not long," Valper assured. "It only consists of a short chant of my making. Here, I have it written down." The man turned back to his desk, rustling through papers in search.

It provided him the perfect opportunity to incant the words he'd studied in preparation, charging them with his meagre magical energy. Halfway through the spell they began to take a life of their own, practically rolling off his tongue of their own volition. He finished, emphasising the last syllable, and the world drained of all sound.

Losing an entire sense was disconcerting. A permanent fixture in one's life, able to be snatched away in an instant by the whim of any eager fool who fancied himself a magician. It made every step forward in this world that much more of a risk.

On cue, the wave of fatigue that came with every magical exertion crashed into him, and he bit down the inside of his cheek to stay alert. The metallic taste of blood seeped into his mouth as he pulled a pistol from the folds of his clothing and promptly shot Valper Galilei in the back. Twice.

The pudgy cleric had been in the middle of turning around, alarmed at the sudden incantation. Stumbling as the shots hit him, he slammed against the desk and soundlessly collapsed onto the ground, sending papers drifting haphazardly to land in a growing pool of red.

He briefly wondered what would happen to the former holy man, now that he was aware of an afterlife, of sorts. Valper's crimes would ensure no place in Heaven, and he didn't particularly think Hell would want the man either. Perhaps the man's soul would simply be consigned to oblivion. A pondering for another day.

After a moment's consideration, he stepped forward and nimbly retrieved the three remaining crystals from where they'd fallen, before the slow spreading blood touched them. He pocketed them with the one he'd taken earlier. They might eventually have some use.

Valper's hand weakly grasped at his leg, and the dying man's mouth formed silent words. The spell negated all sound within a small area. It would run its course and dissipate after a few minutes longer. He didn't have the strength left to dismiss it, nor a reason to.

Stowing away his firearm, he strode over to the Excaliburs, pulling one slightly out of its sheath to check his reflection against the blade. Freed still stared back at him, only the glare had made way for a dispassionate gaze. There was no longer a need to maintain appearances.

Taking his first good look at the sword itself, he gained some insight into Valper's obsession with them. He'd seen decorative blades worn by the Britannian elite at high society functions, but these were altogether different. They were beautiful in that they were meant to be wielded, and wielded with _purpose_.

His hand on the hilt began to go numb, and he sheathed the blade lest he drop it.

Taking both Excaliburs under an arm, he made for the door. As soon as he stepped out and closed it behind him, the bubble of silence popped, and his hearing returned. Quickened breathing, a faster heartbeat, both his own. A sudden wave of vertigo surprised him, and he fought to keep walking.

Symptoms of magical exhaustion, not any sense of remorse for the corpse in the room he had just left. Valper Galilei was far from the least deserving person out of all those he'd killed. It was a shame it had come to this though. If the Church managed to get a hold of the body, it would detract from the air of mystery he'd cultivated for 'Zero'. Bullet wounds seemed too mundane for a magician's _modus operandi._

He'd also have to take measures against Sona and Rias discovering the body. He doubted either of them knew Valper was even in town, let alone who the cleric was, but it was best to play it safe. He'd arrange to have the building burnt down in a few hours. The other strays would have discovered the corpse by then, and with no reason to stay they would scatter to the four winds.

He was most of the way down the hall when he noticed… nothing. No sign of the strays. Where had they gone? An ambush?

"I needed him alive you know," spoke a voice from behind him.

Fighting the urge to whirl around, he slowly turned. He was greeted with the sight of a young man rounding the corner at the opposite end of the hall. The stranger was dressed in a black leather jacket and burgundy jeans. A looped silver chain hung from one side of them, matching the colour of a wild head of hair.

Whoever this man was, he had the ability to take out a dozen men of above-average strength in the span of a short conversation. Hopefully this wouldn't devolve into a situation more troublesome than it already was.

"Yes, well," he said smoothly, in his own voice, "it just so happened that at that moment, I needed him dead."

"And in doing so," said the stranger, "you've just made my job that much more of a pain in the ass."

"My condolences," he apologised, meaning it. "I don't suppose there would be anything I could do to compensate?"

"I think you owe me a few answers, at the very least. Are you going to drop the disguise?"

The stranger's hazel eyes bored into him with a rare intensity. He was reminded of a predatory beast.

"I'll keep it, if it's all the same to you. So, answers, you mentioned? Looking for something?"

It would be exceedingly unfortunate if the silver-haired man was after the Excaliburs. Having to hand them over would be a major setback for his goals.

The stranger frowned slightly at his refusal to reveal who he was, but didn't press the issue. "Some _one,"_ the stranger corrected, "Seeing as I now have to leave this town by morning, I'd like to have a lead on my next destination."

"Their leader?" he guessed, gesturing vaguely around him. He'd heard mention of orders during his surveillance of the strays, but no direct mention of a name. "Despite appearances, I have no connection to these men. Tonight is my first and last time dealing with them."

The stranger stared at him, searching for any sign of a lie. Several seconds passed, and the stare broke into a scowl. "The name 'Kokabiel' wouldn't mean anything to you then?"

"Not a thing," he replied.

"I guess that's that," the stranger said.

"I suppose so," came his response. _Living proof that reasonable people exist in the world,_ he thought dryly.

A stray thought crossed his mind, connecting fragments of information and forming conclusions. By all accounts he should let the stranger leave and be done with it, but something caused him to call out anyway. Gratitude, maybe.

"This… Kokabiel." he said, testing the name. "He instructed these men to steal these." He indicated the swords under his arm. "I trust you know what they are?"

He took the silent stare from the stranger as affirmation.

"And yet," he continued, "he hasn't returned to collect them. He also hasn't provided further instruction to his subordinates. If my surveillance was as comprehensive as I'd intended – and it was – then these vagabonds have had no point of contact with any outside sources, let alone a superior."

The stranger folded his arms, patiently waiting for him to finish. It was only conjecture, not necessarily correct. The simplest explanation from the evidence available, and nothing more.

"These blades also happen to be two of a set of seven," he explained. "Important. Valuable. Extremely difficult to steal. But not impossibly so. Just enough… to draw attention."

The Church was partially treating this as somewhat of an embarrassment. A blunder to be hidden from the other factions. However, if they truly wanted to keep it a secret, there were far better methods than to send in members of the rank-and-file, one by one. It was almost as if they were doing it to maintain an image of plausible deniability. As if they had something else to hide.

"So, if I were this Kokabiel," he elaborated, "I would gather a handful of useful, but expendable underlings. Instruct them to carry out orders of seemingly great importance. Then, regardless of their success… use the ensuing _distraction_ to pursue my true goals."

The stranger's eyes narrowed at the emphasised word. A lesser man may have been intimidated.

"Whatever those goals may be, I could only guess," he finished. "Would that be enough of a lead for you?"

The faintest traces of an anticipatory grin had touched the edges of the stranger's mouth, and when it opened to speak, he half-expected to see pointed teeth.

"I think I may have an idea."

"Then I wish you luck," came his response. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have elsewhere to be."

"One more question," spoke the stranger, eyeing him appraisingly. "Would I be right in saying you don't have a Sacred Gear?"

"And whatever would cause you to come to that conclusion?" he asked warily.

"You're weak." The simple words had been uttered as if they were the most obvious thing in the world.

He elected not to give the statement a response. It hadn't been the kind that invited one.

"Vali," said the stranger. "See ya."

It took him several moments to place the word as a name, and that was all it took for Vali to leave, rounding the corner he'd come from and disappearing from view.

Adjusting his grip on the Excaliburs, he turned and made his own exit. He didn't truly let down his guard until he was several minutes away, allowing the Glamour to fade out of existence. Silver hair for raven. Red eyes for violet.

Tonight's events had proceeded far too well. Or was it that he'd become far too used to misfortune to expect a favourable outcome? Either way, Valper's death marked the true beginning of his endeavours. His goals were now set in stone. All he required now was the strength to achieve them.

Of immediate importance, the Church's exorcist, Issei Hyoudou, Sona Sitri, Rias Gremory. Above them, Vasco Strada, Sirzechs Lucifer, Ajuka Beelzebub. For later consideration, Azazel, Serafall, Kokabiel. Vali too, possibly. Pieces in the game, or players like he?

There were a few hours yet until the break of dawn. He'd use them for some much-needed rest, suspecting he'd need it. He'd been invited to the Hyoudou household for breakfast, and subsequently party preparations. They were going to welcome the exchange student, and he had a strong feeling said student would be an exorcist. He was still unsure of the Church's intentions in that regard. Surely they knew?

If matters got out of hand, at least he'd be there to mediate.


End file.
